


Drabbles and Such

by creepymura



Category: Gorillaz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 03:03:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 81
Words: 76,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15787644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creepymura/pseuds/creepymura
Summary: Short, sexy drabbles written from 2016-2018. Saved here so I don't lose my hard work in deleting my blog (whipstickagocock).





	1. Chapter 1

since early 2016 to now (middle-ish 2018) i maintained and ran the gorillaz/general porn blog whipstickagocock.tumblr.com and on that blog I wrote probably over 100 or so short-ish drabbles, mostly centred around 2doc.

i no longer wish to be associated with that blog or what was written on that blog, but because i don't want to lose all the work i've put into maintaining it (and people asked me not to delete etc), i figured i'd just put it into an ao3 document and let people continue to enjoy my work without having to like. maintain and look at the blog every day.

i'm not going to write 2doc again. i'm not going to return to the blog.

i'm not going to tag EVERY kink that i write about either. i'll put the ships in the chapters though

know i'm in a healthier place and i'm doing okay.

all the best,  
ray x


	2. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: A prompt- demon murdoc visits the human world n has a little fun w/ 2d

“You’re not bein’ serious, are ya?”

“Oh, I’m bein’ deadly serious, mate.” He said, though his casual tone of voice indicated otherwise, laying back on the bed and staring down at his claws, as if he were inspecting them. “Sure, it might only be sex to you, but it’s a very big deal to demons, ya know. Almost blasphemous if we don’t do it as often as we can. An’ like I said before, very deadly.”

“Ya sure that’s just not you?”

“Aw, Stuart, babe, you wound me, ya really do.” Smiling almost lecherously up at you as he crawled down to the food of the bed, his forked tail wagged lazily, like a cat. The smug look on his face was fairly cattish as well, sharp teeth on show, making your palms sweat.

“I’d do all the work.” He said, kneeling up in front of you and looping his arms around your neck, his fingers skating over your shoulders, down the front of your chest, stroking slowly but keeping his eyes on you, watching for your reaction. “Ya can fuck me anyway ya like.”  Voice low and husky. “Or I can fuck you. Whichever ya like the most.” A dangerously mischievous glint in his black eyes that made your knees shake. He knew what he was doing, and this wasn’t the first time he’d teasingly flirted with you in order to get something that he wanted. Something he really wanted.

But to his credit, it was working.

Your cheeks were burning and you bit down on your lip, fingers twisting in the material of your t-shirt. He smirked, an amused chuckle slipping past his lips, leaned in close to you, close enough that you were engulfed in the scent of burning and tobacco smoke. It was intoxicating and enough to make you shiver even more.

Everything about him appealed to you, and perhaps that was the reasoning behind the entire thing. The fact that he was everything that you wanted in a man, and he knew it, meant he could wrap you into a mess in the palm of his hand and control you anyway he wanted. Almost like a succubus, but he didn’t demand nearly enough sex for that to be the case. At least not yet.

Maybe worth considering though

His hands stopped on your chest, gripping at the fabric and dragging you into a harsh kiss, all teeth, his forked tongue pressed past your lips and practically down your throat. You melted against his rough touch, groaning against his lips, and he pulled you back on the bed, quickly re positioning himself to straddle your hips, giving himself the control without you saying a word yet.

His dick was already standing to attention against the bulge in your jeans, and he relentlessly ground his hips down against you, head tipped back in a near pornographic whine and he dragged his claws down the front of your shirt, effectively ripping it apart like tissue paper as he rutted against you. They were sharp enough to dig into your skin as well, and feeling them drag so slowly down your chest was enough to send you into a frenzy of delicious pain and pleasure, desperately bucking your hips underneath him, begging for something because you were already so hard.

Anything he wanted, just like he had said to you.

He licked teasingly at your bruised lips, almost apologetic if it wasn’t for the sick smirk on his face as he unbuttoned your jeans, telling you how hot he was for you, how pretty your dick was, asking you to beg for it.

And you could beg. You would beg all he wanted. 


	3. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: 2Doc smut with cock rings and cigarette burning (consensual)

“Are ya sure it’s okay?”

Tug at the ropes, swallow down and blur out any hesitation or doubt you have in your mind. Your dick feels heavy underneath you, a tight band around the base forcing it to stand up to attention before anything’s been done. The thought of it helps though, makes you even more hard than you already were.

Eyes squeezed shut.

“Yeah. Do it.”

Teeth clenched, waiting for the pain.

A cigarette stubbed out on the small of your back made your body immediately flinch and shudder as you let out a long, pained whine that trailed into a pathetic moan. The initial pain faded quickly as soon as he brought the glowing ember of the cigarette off your skin, but the dull, droning, constant pain stayed behind, making you shudder even more.

Knuckles white from pulling at the rope, cuffs would have hurt less, but you liked the hurt from the rough, untreated ropes, would burn your skin and remind you of this intense intimacy, more than what the two of you had ever done before.

“Do it again.”

Your voice was an unfamiliar rasp, dripping with want and pleasure despite how painful it would have felt. The click of his zippo sounded behind you, and the same pain returned quickly, up between your shoulder blades. Made you howl out in pain, your head tipped back and your hips jutting for attention, making your bound dick bounce against your belly.

Screams fell into whimpers and into moans quickly again as the pain flooded your body, flooded your mind, so it was the only thing you were able to think about. How good the pain felt, how good he made you feel.

“Again?”

“Please.”

After the fourth time, he didn’t even need to ask for permission anymore. After he was done, your back was a mess of cigarette burns and trailing ash and your wrists were red with rope burns.

A canvas of passion and pain.

An art piece of your sick fantasies and his desires to please you no matter what.

You made a joke that the Tate would have probably taken you in as an exhibit if you made up a shit enough explanation.

He just said he’d never let them. And it felt romantic, in the same twisted way that the burns felt like gifts.


	4. 2DOC + CYBORG 2D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: *banging pots and pans* CLONES! CLONES! CLONES!

A thick, black leather collar around your neck with a taut leash kept your naked body upright and your back straight, forced you to keep your eyes forward. Forced you to look at the matching collar around…it’s neck. Made you feel less special.

Murdoc just sat on the bed, above the two of you, keeping the leash coupler in a tight grip, looking incredibly pleased with himself as always. Kneading at himself through his jeans already, hard just from looking at you and it underneath him, the way he liked you. You kept your eyes down so you didn’t have to look at how it looked up at him, how eager it looked to do anything it’s master told it to do, the way you used to look at him yourself. Made your stomach churn, thinking about how he’d essentially created a you that wouldn’t say no. Would always do whatever he wanted with a dopey smile on it’s face, the way he always liked you to look.

It didn’t have a voice, thankfully. You didn’t know if you’d have been able to take it if it spoke with your voice as well. This was already bad enough.

The lonely years had made you stubborn though, the therapy and counselling had made you forget your subservience to him, and you kept your gaze down, no matter how hard he tugged at your leash.

But he stroked a casual, affectionate hand through your hair, still clearly trying to get on your good side, though his sudden gentleness was doing nothing to put you at ease.

“In a bad mood with me, darlin’?” He crooned, scratching at your scalp in the way he knew you liked. It took all of your willpower not to keen up to his touch and just give in while he was being so kind. “Come on, Stu, don’t be such a killjoy. I didn’t get mad about that bloke who’s in all your missed calls, did I?”

“Don’t bring that into this.” You mumbled, trying to move away from his touch, its intense stare switching from Murdoc to you almost frantically. Empty eyes unblinking. You’re only now realizing how freaky that must have looked to outsiders. “He’s got nothin’ t’do with it.” Your phone had rung for the entire journey here, so in all fairness, he had reason enough to be mad at you about it.

“What was his name again?” Gripping your hair hard and pulling you close, an almost affectionate hand stroking down your cheek, to your chin. Forcing you to look at him. “Tom, was it? Looked like that. Looked younger than you too.” A dark chuckle, glancing over at it and giving it a silent signal to crawl over to the two of you, sit between your legs, keeping you spread open for the both of them. “Did he fuck you like I did, Stuart? Bet you couldn’t even cum without thinkin’ about me, and how much you missed this.” Its fingers (long, spindly, like yours) pressed against your erect clit, rubbing torturously slow, making you shake from the sudden attention.

“I-I didn’t…” You stuttered out, your head fuzzy, barely able to think with the sudden pressure on your clit. Leash pulled even tighter, breath hitching in your throat.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not mad. I missed you too, ya know.“ He whispered, running a thumb over your trembling lips, dangerously slow. “That’s why I made him.” A nod to your duplicate, that it took as a signal to press its fingers into you, deep, already curling to find your sweet spot, making you whimper. “Might not be as good as the original, yeah, but he takes it just as well.” His other hand curling into your duplicates hair, petting gently, and it keened up to his touch, a blissful smile on it’s face. Like how you used to look. “Least I wanted to keep you, not replace you with some dull looking student.”

“That’s not normal.” Trying to close your legs but a firm hand kept you forced open. Clearly it knew what Murdoc wanted. “Ya basically made a me-shaped sex doll, Murdoc…” You couldn’t deliver your insult the way you wanted to without tripping and stumbling on your words. It was good at it’s job, apparently, and knew exactly the way you liked to get fucked, or at the very least fingered. “Ain’t that fucked up to you?”

He just gave you a bored look, still stroking through his creation’s hair like a pet’s. “Y'say that like I didn’t see you as a sex doll to begin with, mate.”

Alright, that stung.

You didn’t say anything after that, just rutted hard against the constant piston like thrusting inside of you.


	5. 2DOC + CYBORG 2D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Okay what abt 2d n cyborg 2d like both kissing n sucking murdoc's cock

As time went on, 2D’s original stubborn streak was becoming less and less of a problem, especially when he was reminded of everything you’d done with Cyborg. You hadn’t considered that he had a jealous streak, since he’d never shown anything like that before, but it got obvious when there were only the three of you on the island. No chance of paying attention to anyone else, no chance of him trying to make you jealous in return, especially when he couldn’t text “Tom” when he was in a bad mood with you.

And as he became less stubborn, and more prone to jealousy, you found that you could basically ask him to do anything you wanted.

You liked watching them play with each other. You could only imagine the psychological implications that would be having on 2D, but watching it, Cyborg always ruthless with him, just like you were, and 2D never daring to look up at it, just rutting against it’s constant attention, eyes squeezed shut and biting his lip, face to face with his younger self, was enough to push you into climax.

You were also especially fond of making them go down on the knees in front of you, treat the both of them like your own personal pets, and make them beg (wordlessly in Cyborg’s case) to taste your dick.

2D got vulgar when he thought he was in competition with someone, to your delight, ever desperate to please you, to do everything you wanted him to, telling you how much he loved the weight of your dick on his tongue, how much he loved the taste of it when you came down his throat. And sweet fucking Satan, was it hot when he felt like he had something to prove.

Cyborg was happy enough just to watch him for a while, silently learning all the techniques that you liked the most, how quickly 2D could deepthroat your dick without even having to push himself. It couldn’t say it, of course, but it was just as eager to please you as 2D himself, probably even felt a bit jealous that it had been replaced so quickly.

It slipped in behind 2D one night, as it was prone of doing, pressed it’s fingers up against his wet cunt, teasing his clit, as it had been shown to by you multiple times, made him whine and moan loud as he pressed gentle kisses down your dick, showing you how much he wanted you without having to say anything at all. Tangled it’s fingers in his hair, pulling hard enough that he whimpered, looked up at you as if you could do anything about it.

As if you would do anything about it.

It pulled him away, not hard or harsh in anyway, nothing you wouldn’t do yourself for example. Just enough that it had enough space to move close to you as well, kiss down your dick they way that 2D did, lap at the piercing, take the head in and deep throat you almost immediately, not needing to worry about a gag reflex.

2D whimpered for attention, moving in close to you again, kissing up your thighs, lapping at the base of your dick whenever he could, still trying to keep your eyes on him rather than his duplicate.

Everything from the two of them screamed for you to pay attention to them, always desperate for be your favourite, no matter how hard you pushed it. 


	6. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: If ur doing prompts tonight could u do a dollification thing maybe

Glassy, empty eyes staring up at you, black and endless like a void. Almost looking fake, like plastic or glass embedded in his head.

At one point, you’d thought they were kinda spooky, but lately you found yourself getting lost in them more and more often.

On his knees in front of you. Naked, of course. Staring at the glinting silver crown charm on the black chord, still dangling from your fingers and in front of his eyes, the reason his head was so empty. Just the way he wanted, the way he asked, the way he begged for. Soft lips gently parted, already glistening wet with dripping saliva, made you want to stick your dick down his throat even more.

His pale skin was practically luminescent from the low light of the basement, fragile and delicate, like a porcelain doll. Waiting, begging to be marked and mottled with bruises and bite marks that made him your’s.

He looked like he could break if you touched him, like his skin would crack if you held him too tight. Almost convinced you not to touch him. Just to leave him like that, frozen and trapped inside of his own head, forever maybe. Maybe a sicker part of you wanted to dress him up as if he were a real doll, (maybe low cut, hitched up latex tops and skirts that would show off his pretty body for you, or intricate outfits with frills and lace, so he looked like a real porcelain doll.) Pose him and make him play out all your fantasies without a word against it.

Fucking hell, you were barely five minutes into the thing and you were already getting lost inside your own head.

You placed the black cord around his neck gently, signalling him to awake out of the trance you’d put him under, stroking through his hair as you kneaded at your already hard dick, watching him snap out of his confusion, just slightly, though his head would still be distorted and muddied from all the orders that he’d been given.

“Finally awake for me, baby blue?” You crooned softly, hands moving down to cup his face, tracing your claws over his skin. He nuzzled your hands obediently, eyes blown wide and innocently sweet. “My darling boy.” Thumbs over his parted lips. “You’re my pretty little fuck doll, aren’t ya?”

He nodded, still looking up at you.

“Daddy’s fuck doll.” He murmured softly, with a dopey smile, like it had been fucked out of him already.

“Good boy.” 


	7. 2DOC + CYBORG 2D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: k imagine like when they're domming murdoc that 2d is bossing around cyborg d too like teaching him how to get murdoc all worked up and how to make him beg

2D could have been more of a little shit but w/e. trans 2D, murdoc’s pov

 

So apparently they’d learned to get along.

It wasn’t exactly surprising, since it wasn’t like you’d trained Cyborg to be a war machine or anything in particular, and it wouldn’t have had a reason to pick fights with anyone, or be particularly dangerous. If anything, you were surprised that they hadn’t gotten along quicker since they probably had a lot in common, Cyborg having been programmed to be as close to 2D as possible and never doing much to provide you with any kind of striking conversation (again, much like 2D himself). Perhaps it was because he was still jealous of it or maybe he just didn’t really like the idea of constantly being faced with a younger version of himself. Whichever it was, you weren’t too sure.

But they were getting along. That was the important part.

Getting along so well, in fact, that it seemed that they had made an agreement between themselves.

-

“I s'pose you’re happy with yourself.”

2D had handcuffed you to the office chair, taken advantage of you when you were your most vulnerable (horny) and now you were stuck underneath him.

“Very.” He said, with a cocky smile, already making himself comfortable on top of you, sprawling in your lap, pressing himself against the ache underneath your jeans. You shifted uncomfortably underneath him, biting at your lip, keeping a dark look ever present on your face (though he didn’t seem as intimidated by it as he used to be.)

“So what is this then?” You asked, jutting your hips just slightly in an effort to feel him against you better. “Your stubborn streak run dry? Too horny to give a shit, what?”

“Maybe.” He said, running trailing fingers down your chest, still rutting against you. “Maybe you could call it a truce as well.”

“Between…” But he didn’t need to tell you, since Cyborg was standing so near, watching over the two of you with empty, void like eyes, it’s head ever so slightly cocked as it was trying to pay attention to what you were doing, as if it didn’t know. As if that wasn’t the main reason you had even created it.

“Well, it’s nice t'see you two gettin’ along so well.” You mumbled through a sneer. “Even if it is just for weird shit like this. Thought you were better than that, mate.”

2D just smiled and fiddled with your belt buckle, kneading at your dick underneath your boxers, making your hips buck for more attention and pull at the metal cuffs that bound you to the office chair.

“Ya know what t'do?” He asked it, lancing up at it, keeping his voice soft as if he was really talking to his younger self, as if he was introducing someone to their first time again. Cyborg nodded, fiddling with his jean buttons, and tugging them down to show off it’s attachment, already standing up to attention (naturally). “Just do it how I showed ya, yeah? Just like how I did it.”

It nodded again, gripping at the dick with a gentle hand, as if it could feel anything, and threading it’s fingers through your hair, standing up a little straighter to it’s full height so it could press the plastic against your lips.

You turned your nose up to it for a second, since in your experience, the attachment wasn’t the best for oral sex, since it wasn’t pliable or particularly comfortable enough for deep throating or prolonged dick sucking, things you were fond of. But 2D gripped your chin gently after seeing your defiance, letting Cyborg press past your lips without you pulling back. You gagged against it almost immediately, that much was obvious, but it didn’t do much to deter it as it pressed deeper, in and out, gripping onto your hair tighter.

That was enough for you to maybe think it felt something.

2D evidently wasn’t finished either, as he knelt up over you, tugging his trousers down (no briefs there either.) His clit was already standing erect underneath a bush of pubic hair, and you could only imagine how wet he must have been watching the scene unfold, you deepthroating the dick of his younger self, just so he could have the image in his head to wank off to the next time he needed it.

He moved in closer to you, gripping at your dick as he positioned himself above you, pressing down on your dick and throwing his head back with a long groan as he rode you.

You moaned against the dick down your throat as 2D rode your dick and Cyborg pressed itself deeper, making your body lurch and pulling harder at the cuffs, hard enough that they would cut in.

You shook between the two of them, restlessly squirming as you took both of their relentless attention, drool and excessive liquid from Cyborg’s dick dripping down your chin. Squeezing your eyes shut, hips bucking, trying to pull back from the relentless thrusting down your throat, from the ache and the attention.

“You like being between us, babe?” 2D crooned softly, still relentlessly riding your dick, gripping at your front. “You wanted this, didn’t ya? It’s why you made it. Bet ya didn’t think we’d turn against ya, eh?” A cocky grin came to his face. “He’s doing such a good job, ain’t he? Really outdid yourself with him.”

Weird how he was suddenly calling it a ‘him’ as if it was a person.

Maybe he actually saw it that way now.


	8. 2DPAULA + 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Murdoc finds 2ds sex tape and watches it in the Winnie

“Come on, get that camera out of my face.”

He’s lying back on a bed with black bedsheets. Nothing familiar. His hair’s the same colour. Smiling, arms casually folded behind his head, a lit cigarette gently resting between his lips. Brown eyes, soft, warm. Completely at peace. Even though he sounded annoyed, he still looked totally relaxed. He grins, sits up, exhaling smoke as he stubs it out in an ashtray to the side of the bed, filled with completely new energy.

“I mean it! Give it here then, we should see you as well.”

Playful as ever, it seems. Whoever’s filming keeps it away from him though, far enough that he wouldn’t be able to grab for it without more energy being put into it. He’s still smiling though. There’s a gap in his teeth but it’s supposed to be there. Nothing’s warranted a bigger one yet. He looks maybe nineteen on the crackling tape, acts that way too. Young, inexperienced. Like he has no idea what the world is like around him, though he shouldn’t, he should act like that. Boy-ish naivety that people probably found utterly charming. No doubt you did too.

“Well, I want to see you.” He says, with a soft pout. Dark pink lips, like he’s been kissing. Bruises on his neck make what he’s actually been up to obvious. His innocence didn’t do much to hide anything. You can’t hear what the person behind the camera has to say, but you like the way he looks when he’s listening. His face drops, his eyes widen slightly. He still looks like that too.

Very cute.

He smiles again, and he’s back to lying back against the bed, looking up with half lidded eyes, haughty and seductive (or at least he’s trying to be. Somehow his effort is even more endearing).

“Well, why would you want that?” He asks, and his voice is coy as he leans up, staring at the camera. You notice how tight his shirt is, how you can practically see his chest underneath it, and your whole body clenches just looking at him. His jeans are already slipping down and you can see the waistband of his boxers above the denim. His smile deepens a little, he looks at the camera and pulls his shirt off.

A little silver bellybutton piercing glints in the new light of the room, and he grins, bright and wide.

So fucking pretty.

“Glad you think so.” He says, as if he could hear you, and he’s reaching down to undo his jeans. All his actions are practiced and confident, there’s no hesitancy or delay. Either he’s done this before or he knows exactly what he’s doing. He plays the soft, innocent role nicely, but you like it when he’s confident. Though you’d never tell him that.

The jeans are down, and the front of his boxers are already tenting. He laughs, pressing his hands against his dick as if he’s trying to hide it, tells the camera to stop filming when he’s so embarrassed. You can hear the voice behind the camera laughing with him, and you wish that you couldn’t.

They reach down to pin his hips down, gently urge his hands away, and stroke over his dick through the fabric. The camera occasionally pans up to film his face, biting his lip, watching, waiting for whatever is going to happen. They tuck his boxers down and delicately grip his length, jerking it slowly. His slit is already dripping. They’re silent so the camera can pick up on all of his noises.

Whines and whimpers, groans, names you’d rather not hear. He grips the sheets underneath him, a shaky hand reaches to assist but recedes without a word. Well trained.

“You’re so good to me.” He says softly, and the camera pans up again. He’s smiling like a dope, cheeks practically bright red, and he covers his face with his hands. Giggling again. You almost feel like you’re intruding on something personal and intimate, and you get a weirdly voyeuristic feeling, but you try to move past it.

The filmer moves in, moving the camera away, onto the bedside table where you can see most of his upper half, and kisses him. Deep and hard, his hands go down to stroke their soft body, cupping their breasts, down their hips, as they kiss him harder. Lipstick smears on his skin but he barely gives it a thought. As soon as the kiss parts, he’s smiling. They stroke through his hair, and they’re whispering to each other, words that you can’t hear. He nods, and they move to stand up.

Fucking tease.

They’re back before long though, but you can’t see much of whatever they’re doing (though he certainly looks excited about it, whatever it might be.) They kiss again, and he only pulls away to throw his head back with a long groan, gripping onto them as he grimaces, ever so softly. They grab for the camera again and when they sit up, you can see his face, bright red, panting and looking up at the lens.

“God, you’re so pretty.” They say softly, and he smiles shakily. “You like it, pretty boy? Like taking me?”

“Mmhmm.” He says, nodding his head. Biting his lip, squeezing his eyes shut whenever he breathed out harshly. “Like it more if I could…s-see you though.” They stroke through his hair, down his cheek. Cupping his face gently.

“You’re prettier than me though.” They say, and he laughs again, making your heart clench tight.

“That’s not true at all…” He says, before he gasps again, head thrown back.

The camera moves to the bedside table again, and you can see their bodies intertwined, his legs over their shoulders, them fucking him deep and hard, his body arched underneath them. Red nails scratch down his front as they thrust in and out of him quicker. He’s gasping and whining like a porn star, perfect for filming in that way.

You stopped the tape before you could watch anymore though, the sudden intimacy from the touches and whispers from the couple on screen becoming too much to cope with, and you’re left with a bitterness inside you that wasn’t there before.

(Though you still managed to wank off properly, even though you were in a shit mood now.) 


	9. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: ooh heres a challenge write a fic based around a msi song on frankenstein girls

“And a ten pack of Superkings.”

The blue haired cashier had watched you since you’d entered the shop for the last ten minutes, only briefly hiding how much he was looking by staring down at his phone, pretending to text whenever you looked in his direction. It was kind of cute how he thought he was being subtle. You’d only stopped to fill up your van’s tank, maybe get something caffeinated and full of sugar so you didn’t fall asleep at the wheel, but your interests had broadened a little more after seeing him watch you so feverishly.

Maybe it was because it was four in the morning, and you were probably the only human interaction he’d had for about two hours, but you liked to think that there was maybe something a bit more there. Because you were that self-involved and your ego could have done with a bit of stroking.

He nodded quickly, after scanning through your other overly sugary items, and reached down to open the front of the cigarette display to find the right brand. Bending over let you get a good look of his ass, perky and little underneath skinny jeans, rather lovely if a bit lackluster. Though you were hardly in a place to be picky. He put the fags through the register, into the plastic bag full of the rest of the shit you bought at petrol stations at four in the morning. Nothing really worth considering.

“Is that all, sir?” He said, and you could tell his smile is a little forced at this point. You didn’t blame him. He’d probably been at this for at least a few hours.

“Er, yeah.” You said, and he starts ringing you up. “What are you up to after this, darlin’? When’s ya shift end?” You smiled (albeit, a little lecherously, even by your standards) and leaned against the counter. He looked at you, his brows knit together.

“7am, sir.”

“Any chance you can take a quick break then?”

“Well, my manager is just in the back.” He said, gesturing at the ‘Staff Only’ door behind the counter, though he’s stopped ringing you through. “I’ll get in trouble if I…ya know, just take a break without tellin’ ‘im. ‘Specially if it’s this late.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’ll cover for ya.” You pressed, and you could tell that you’re already convincing him. “Come on, just a fag or two, nothin’ else. Ya look like ya need it.”

“Well…I have t'go and tell him first, that alright?” He asked and you nodded. He smiled, and left you to go to the back room. You considered taking the bag and leaving before he had the chance to charge you for it, but you thought otherwise, particularly when you were trying to get into the cute cashiers pants first.

He probably wouldn’t have appreciated it if you got him fired first.

-

Pushed hard against your bed, his legs around your waist as you pushed deep inside of him, so tight.

He let out a long whine, throwing his head back, reaching back to grab at your headboard as a means to ground himself. You bit dark love bites on his neck, purpling bruises that he wouldn’t be able to hide, so his manager would know what he was up to when he should have been working. Even that was enough to turn you on even more, knowing that a part of you would be left with him even after you were gone. Who the fuck knew if you were going to see him again, you were going to enjoy this while you had it.

You didn’t have names to whine, though that hardly mattered. He called you ‘Sir’ through ragged, strained breaths, deep heady moans, made you thrust inside of him even harder, faster, just so you would hear it even more.

You kept your hands on his hips, pinning him down against the bed, just so you had every bit of power over him and there was no chance of him doing anything to overpower you.  

He didn’t seem like the type though, more fond of letting you do whatever you wanted to him, wreak his body, wreak his hole, nail him hard so you could prove you didn’t give a shit about him outside of a cheap fuck in front of a petrol station at five in the morning.

He slurred out something you didn’t understand and you groped his thigh hard, digging your nails deep against his skin, dragging dark red lines. His body arched hard and he whimpered out pleas and begs for more, please, I can take it, whatever you want.

You lapped down his chest, biting over his collarbone, calling him a dirty little fuck for asking for something so vile from you, and he moaned, nodding his head, jutting his hips up under your touch. His dick bounced against his stomach, weeping pre-cum but forgotten between the two of you. 

The thought of making him cum without touching it was appealing, and you loved the idea of being able to hold it over him, even though there was a slim chance you were ever going to see him again.

And, again, it gave you a bit of an ego boost. 


	10. SOLO 2D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: I request 2D getting tentacle-fucked via some weird magic nonsense and being super into it

The basement always smelt of ash and the smoke constantly streaming out of the smouldering portal would make his head rush if he stood still for too long. 

If he were to look under his feet, he would have been terrified, looking into a bottomless hole of fire and brimstone, burning just underneath him, bright red and orange flames inches from licking at his bare feet and burning his skin.

So he supposed that it might have been a good thing that he had to keep his head up, in the end.

-

Glistening, black tentacles kept his body still above the smoldering portal, strong and without any kind of strain to keep him up, wrapped tight around his skinny wrists and ankles to keep him from squirming too much. Cold, viscous fluid smeared black on his pale skin and stained his t-shirt that was already ripped over his chest, as he shivered and twisted against his binds, though to no avail.

A thick tentacle was already teasing over his dripping cunt with a flared tip, waiting for the right moment to strike before it pushed itself inside of him, seemingly uncaring of how much of a stretch it was for him, how much he had to steady himself (and probably not caring about how much he liked it either). It forced a loud cry out of him, as if there was barely any room for anything else inside of him. A second, smaller tentacle was already busying itself with tracing over his ass, and the amount of fluid dripping from it had convinced him that he probably wouldn’t even feel it (or at least feel any strain from it).

The dark appendages around his ankles shifted, moving to spread his body open further, contorting it to a level that probably should have been uncomfortable (though it wasn’t, if anything the new pressure just turned him on more.)

Thighs forced apart so hard that he shook.

The tentacle stuffed inside of him twisted and pulsates restlessly as it was trying to force itself deeper, and he could practically feel it moving and rearranging his insides. The second, slimmer tentacle pushed itself inside of him hard, so fast that he couldn’t even think about it, and when he went to scream, a third forced itself down his throat, making him gag from the sudden weight on his tongue.

He moaned, deep and loud, against it though, the black fluid dripping on his tongue and down his chin, making him sputter from the bitter taste. Jutting his hips back against the consistent piston like thrusting inside him, twisting, making his body arch as he got closer to climax with each thrust from all three of the pulsating tentacles.

His vision is spotted with white and he felt his body twitch involuntarily, pulling hard at the appendages keeping him still. He didn’t really have a perception of how loud he must have been, his head being way too far gone to really have any idea about anything outside of the sensations inside of him, outside of his own desperate need for orgasm.

Though when he actually does reach that line, and cums against the thick tentacle inside of him, none of it stops. They still push deep and pulsate and give him no kind of relief, no break between the constant thrusting inside of him.

Cunt’s too sensitive to make it feel as good as it did before, instead wreaking his body with shivers and whimpers as his overly sensitive, abused holes were fucked until his head went numb, and he didn’t feel anything other than those intense sensations that ruined his body. 


	11. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: More hypnosis 

He managed to convince you to do it again.

He was coy about it initially, asked you about it quietly through nervous smiles, fiddling with his fingers. Just a suggestion, he said, if you ever wanted to do something a little more adventurous again. He could take it, he said, he didn’t mind if it was what you wanted. Wanting to make it seem like it would be your idea, and he was just going along with what you wanted.

But after enough times of ignoring his pressing, playing dumb to all of his subtle suggestions, he gets direct.

Pinned your shoulders against your van, eyes glued on the shining silver charm around your neck. Looking down at you, like a dying man at water, and asking you to do it again. Please.

“I never knew how much I thought.” He said, looking down at his feet. “‘Till there wasn’t a thought in my head.” A nervous little laugh slipped out before he could catch it. “I’m always thinkin’ about shit, always overthinkin’ everything. It’s.” Pause, looking back at you. “Nice to just not have to worry about it for a bit.” Hands slipping down your arms, down to you hips. “Let you do all the thinkin’ for me.” A breathy, little chuckle. “You were always much better at that than me.” Biting his lip, you can see his cheeks darken even in the low light. “Just…become a thing. An object. Let you own me, without thinking about anything else.”

You stroked an affectionate hand down his cheek, smiling as he keened against it. A soft hand rests on his front and you lean forward to kiss him, gently, relishing in the soft noises he’s already making. Your necklace almost feels heavier now that you’re suddenly thinking about it.

“Listen to the sound of my voice.” You said, when you pulled back from the kiss. “Just focus on me, nothin’ else, and listen.” He nodded quickly and you reached back to pull your necklace over your head, smiling when his eyes lit up excitedly. You held the shining silver cross in front of his eyes, waiting until he had all of his attention on it and not you, before you started to delicately swing it, back and forth, watching as his empty sockets watched it.

“I want you to relax, and just watch the charm. How it’s movin’.” Keeping your voice soft, quiet, so not to alert him. “And notice how it moves as you breathe. Just breathe deeply for me now.” Inhale. Exhale. “As you watch, you may notice your eyelids becoming heavier.” Stroking soft circles against his chest, just to calm him down even more. “Whenever you’re ready, you can close your eyes.” Barely seconds pass before his eyelids flutter shut for you. “And as you continue to relax, breathe deeply and listen to me, understand?”

He didn’t need to nod for you to know that he read you crystal clear.

Eyes shut, brain empty. Put the charm back around your neck. Now was your opportunity to do whatever you wanted. Mold him into whatever you wanted him to be.

Not like he’d ever know anyway.

-

His joints moved stiffly, as if he was a real doll, but nothing about his body resisted when you posed him however you wanted.

Arms arched up like a figure in a music box, naked body ever so slightly trembling under your skating touch. Running your hands down his sharp edges, claws tracing delicate lines on his skin. Maybe you could ask him to dance for you next time, maybe sing for you. You wondered if anything about him would change, if he’d sound the same or like something totally different. You imagined a sweet, soft lullaby coming from his lips, and your head swims with want already, just imagining how perfect it could be. How perfect he could make it for you.

So fucking beautiful.

“Beautiful little doll.” You whispered, kissing over his ear. Glancing down, his dick is hard and heavy against his stomach, though he probably barely gave it any kind of thought. Chuckling softly against his skin as you stroked up his length, fingertips playing with the head of his dick, and you almost feel proud of the fact that he doesn’t react.

He’s perfect like this, even if this is almost entirely for his benefit. You preferred his noises, his twitches and trembles, all of his little quirks that made him human. You enjoyed his humanity. But if he liked this, you didn’t see a reason to get in his way, even being generous enough to facilitate his twisted desires.

As long as you got something in return.

You took his shoulders, and force him down onto his knees before you, stroking through his hair as you tucked your jeans down, rubbing at your hard dick through your jeans, watching as his empty eyes glanced up at you, lids drooping, a barely there smile on his lips.

“Aren’t you pretty?” You crooned, a thumb tracing down his cheek and over his parted lips. “Pretty little doll. So perfect for me, aren’t you?”

He nodded, keening close to your touch as he giggled, almost sleepily, staring up at you. “’M a pretty doll.” He drawled, speaking as if his tongue was too heavy to make proper words.

“That’s a good boy…shh, don’t have to speak for me, angel, I know everything in that empty head of your’s.” His dick was weeping pre-cum already, enough that it was starting to drip down his length, enough to make your mouth water just looking at it. “No, don’t speak…just stay still, look pretty for me.” Tipping up his chin so you could see him properly, see the dopey little smile on his face.

“Perfect…beautiful boy.” Pulling your boxers down, finally letting him see your dick. “Don’t have to do anything, baby. I’ll take care of it all, okay? Just like how I take care of you.”


	12. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: pls do a prompt of the spanish speaking murdoc please it sounds really nice !!!

Public disturbance. Disorderly conduct. Aggravated assault.

The police officer read off of a clipboard, looking between the two of you with furrowed eyebrows, tapping the top of the board with a pen, waiting for either of you to give another crime to the list.

You were both sore with bruises already blooming under skin, his nose was broken and bloody, and your lip was busted, dripping with blood. Your forearms were stinging with vicious scratches and you could feel your stomach churning from the fight. You were also both very quiet, which was funny because of how loud you had been in the park when they’d caught you, shouting swears at each other, cussing each other out.

You drank too much, he’d drunk too much, shit happens when he insults you one too many times for you to deal with and you swing a fist. He hits back, harder, and you leapt on him, wrestling him to the ground, yelling at him as he yelled at you, landing more punches than you did, more uncomfortable knees to the stomach and groin than he did. You must have gathered enough of a crowd for someone to ring the police, which was why you were here.

As the officer kept talking, you glared up at Murdoc, who was leaning back against the wall, looking as nonplussed as ever (though he might have been keeping his head up to stop the blood dripping) and that annoyed you. But you weren’t going to say anything. Because neither would he.

The officer stopped reading off of the clipboard (finally) and looked at the two of you again, first at you, than at Murdoc. He hadn’t given either of you anything to mop up your battle wounds with, so he’d simply left the two of you to drip blood on the concrete floor, no matter how much you wiped it away. Quite unhygienic really.

“Do either of you have the number of a lawyer we can call, or someone who might pay your bail?” He asked, looking back down at his clipboard, sounding like he’d said this a thousand times before.

“No hablo Inglés.” Murdoc muttered, dabbing at his nose with his sleeve, glaring over in your direction. You said nothing.

The officer looked over at you, and you stayed silent. He let out a long sigh through his nose, and started writing down at the clipboard again.

“We have both of your identifications from your wallets. We can alert your next of kin, and you can explain this to them, if you’d prefer that.”

You suddenly felt very young again, as if you were being scolded. Admittedly you didn’t really want either of your parents to be notified that you’d been starting fights in the middle of Essex at God knows what time, but you still didn’t say anything.

Murdoc just shrugged, and sniffed, still wiping away blood from his nose. “Diles, que no me importa.” He mumbled, and you let out a little snort at how stubborn he was being. The officer just looked at you again, as if he was waiting for you to speak up, and frowned when you didn’t, irritated with the way you were smirking to yourself now. Murdoc smirked himself, and spat out a wad of blood on the floor. “Les resultaría gracioso.”

“We know you can speak English, Mr Niccals, you’re a British citizen.” The officer was sounding very tired at this point, plucking the round glasses off of his face and wiping them clean on his stained work shirt.

“Come mi culo.” He said, smiling to himself as he leant forward in his seat. “Él hace.” He gestured at you then, and the officer looked over at you, as if he was expecting a reply that you wouldn’t give him. He just sighed again, and started writing.

“Deliberate misinformation. Obstruction of justice. Anything else you want me to write on this list?”

“Jódete.” He spat. You just continued to smirk to yourself.

“What about you, Mr Pot?” Talking to you again. “You have anything to say?”

You shrugged your shoulders and gave him an apathetic look. The officer didn’t like looking in your direction much, probably because of how quiet you were and how dark your eyes must have looked in the poorly lit cell. Whatever. You didn’t have anything to say anyway.

“Very well. I’ll leave you both to it. Maybe a few hours in a cell will knock some sense into you.”

And with that, he was gone. And the two of you were alone.

It’s worth mentioning now that there was a camera just outside the cell bars, pointing directly at the two of you. So if you were to start fighting again, it would be broken up before you had the chance to do anything, and you weren’t enough of an exhibitionist to do anything fun while you were alone. Though you were certainly in that kind of mood all of a sudden. Weird.

“What was that about then?” You asked, looking up at him.

He just shrugged, smirked to himself, still wiping at his bloody nose with his sleeve. “No se de que hablas.” He said with a sniff, spitting out another gob of blood. “No dijiste nada. Peor que yo.”


	13. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Speaking of plastic beach, could we get smth about 2ds gimp mask like murdoc mentioned in that one pirate radio? So curious abt the backstory on that..

“I like it better when I can see your pretty face.”

You didn’t. You liked it like this.

You preferred it when you had a safe barrier between yourself and someone else, especially with him, so you didn’t have to expose yourself completely. You swore you’d never let yourself be so trusting and vulnerable ever again.

It was an easy way to cope, you supposed. That’s what you told yourself, even if the mechanism was bad and it would have meant you got scolded by your therapist if you’d told her about it before. The best you could do with what little you had to offer, you thought.

You were going to take what you could.

Sex like this was strange, though not as unpleasant as you thought it would be. Bound in thick latex, uncomfortable, yeah, and made you overheat and sweat underneath skin tight rubber. Made you struggle and pull against rough binds that you adored simply because it made you less recognizable, almost monstrous if you wanted to look at it like that. You liked the idea of not having a face, not having an identity, not having a voice that he could fixate on and put all of his troubles on. You couldn’t give him anyone to blame, anyone to hate with this.

Unhealthy, maybe, but it helped you get through it.

You didn’t even try to reply, just bit down on the black rubber ball between your teeth, pulled against your tight binds, let out a rough huff through your nose, though it just got caught under the thick mask and made you sweat even more.

Gentle hands ran down your front, over latex wrappings down your chest, another method you had at hiding yourself from him. Down to your dick that was already hard from what little attention he had paid you. Good thing to know that your latex fetish was still in tact, no matter how outlandish you went with it, it seemed. When he teased the dripping head with slow fingers, you found yourself groaning and whimpering against your gay, trembling under his touch, trying to buck your hips up against him some more, anything that would have helped.

And in that way he’s won again.

He’d made you expose some of the humanity that you were trying so desperately to hide.

You hated yourself for being so predictable. You hated yourself for wanting this. You hated yourself for still wanting this.

But none of that hate weighed out how much you had missed his touch, his soft words, the way he could tear down all those wall around you (metaphorical or literal in this case) without even trying.

God, you were still so hopeless.

But most of you didn’t care anymore.

All you could think about was how good it felt to be under him again.


	14. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: After that emotional waterfall could we maybe get smth sexy sweet for valentines day?

Murdoc wasn’t usually one to be shy. He wasn’t that kind of person.

If anything he was the exact opposite.

He was cocky and full of himself, exuded pure confidence whenever he came into a room and immediately drew in everyone’s attention. People knew to be intimidated by him, people knew to respect him. And that suited him. You couldn’t imagine him any different. Sometimes you thought he was more a front man than you were, and he certainly acted that way most of, if not all of the time.

So when he was suddenly nervous and quiet, barely able to make eye contact with any of you during the recording session and barely able to talk to anyone without nearly jumping out of his skin, you knew that something was up. Something was on his mind, and you weren’t really sure what. You weren’t good at reading people anyway, but when he was being cryptic like this, you were even worse.

You didn’t really know what else to do other than to just watch him as he played along with the others, because the momentary focus was the only thing that slightly deterred him from whatever was making him so nervous.

After the rehearsal, he grabbed your wrist and dragged you down to thee basement and towards his van as soon as your managers had dismissed all of you and you had a moment alone. Not listening to you when you babbled about something or another, about how you were supposed to do this and that. He never cared much for your obligations (outside of him) anyway.

He shut the door of his van and pushed you back against his bed, straddling your hips, running his hands down your front, gripping your shirt and kissing you hard, almost pressing his tongue down your throat and biting at your lips, enough to bruise and make them bloody. Grinding his hips down against your’s, hot and heavy through multiple layers of denim, shifting at the gorgeous contact and already groaning from how good it felt.

You barely had any time to react to his sudden attention, but all the thoughts you had before were suddenly drowned out and you couldn’t think about anything except for him. How fucking hard you were and how much you wanted this. Made you kiss harder. You reached down, groped his ass hard, and he growled with sick delight against your lips, only encouraging you further. You pressed your hands down the back of his jeans, typically used to rough cotton or bare flesh on friskier days (or days when he forgot to do laundry) but something surprised you.

While you were never really surprised when it came to Murdoc, all these interactions having done wonders to get rid of that, but what you felt was something much different to what you were used to. You touched soft silk, lace trimmed the top and around the thighs. Delicate and gentle, everything Murdoc wasn’t, surprisingly.

As soon as you touched him or rather, as soon as you touched the silk, he was suddenly nervous again, freezing up against you, as if he was worried about your reaction, and suddenly you know why he was acting so shy all day. Just thinking about it made your dick ache even more.

But you didn’t give him any reaction like that. You just snickered softly to yourself, groped him hard again and pressed your lips to his neck, trailing soft kisses down, attacking all of his sweet spots to make him whimper and moan in your lap.

“What’s this then?” You whispered against his skin, stroking over the lace, admittedly liking this sudden shift in power a little more than you should. You always did.

“Just thought I’d do somethin’…” He said softly, almost squirming against you as you kissed. “Valentines an’ all that shite.”

“Feels nice.” You murmured, giving him another hard grope to emphasise your point, making him groan, hold onto you tighter. “You been wearin’ ‘em all day?”

Nodded his head. Still quiet. You just smiled against his skin, kissing up to his ear.

“Gonna show me them then?” You asked, already reaching to unbutton his jeans, just to be that bit more helpful.

He seemed somewhat reluctant to move off of your lap, even with your help with his jeans. When you pulled them down a bit more,  you could see soft, red silk under his jeans, adorned with black lace at the and around the thigh.

Of course.

Even better was the tented fabric at the front, bunched up around his dick, and a tiny spot of damp on the silk.

“Ya hidin’ anythin’ else from me, love?” Kissing down his neck even further as you ran a slow hand over his dick through the panties. He was quiet, still shifting in your lap, trying not to make any sounds even as you touched him, and that answered your question as clearly as anything else. “Show me.”

Without another word, he reached down to pull his jumper off, dragging it up and throwing it to the side. Showing off a skimpy bralette that matched the panties, adorned with tiny black ribbon bows.

When you stopped everything and just stared for a second, clearly a second too long, he was quickly standing up and reaching for his jumper again, like he had something to hide.

“I’m sorry, this was a stupid idea.” He said, holding his jumper up to himself (though not bothering to put it on yet.)

Sitting up on his bed. “Wait, hang on, it’s-”

“I know I look like a twat.” He mumbled, running shaky hands through his hair. “I just wanted to try somethin’ different and special and-.”

“No, it’s-”

“I’ll take it back tomorrow, I dunno why I thought this was a good idea.”

“Really, I-”

“Fuck, you don’t even celebrate it, do ya? I mean, ya always tell me about your dad and shit like that, but I just didn’t think about it.”

“Babe, it’s-”

“Fuck, I’m such an idiot. I’ll just leave you to-”

“Murdoc.” You said firmly, standing up. “Calm down. You look lovely.”

Holding his shoulders gently, running soft hands down his arms in an effort to comfort him, just a little bit more. “I’m serious. I love it.”

“Ya jus’ tryin’ to be nice.” He murmured and you just smiled, wrapped your arms around him and kissed his hair.

“God, you’re an idiot sometimes.” You said affectionately. “You look lovely, alright? Didn’t give me enough time to properly appreciate it, that’s all.”

“Made me nervous.” He said, pressing his face against your shoulder, arms around your waist, holding tight. “Never know what’s too far, what’ll weird ya out. I dunno.”

“Nah, it’s alright.” You said softly, stroking down his shoulder. “Couldn’t put me off much, I don’t think.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 


	15. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Trans! Murdoc! And! 2D! Scissoring! ! !!

“Mate, this isn’t working.”

“Shut up, I can feel somethin’.”

“I can’t.”

The position he’d forced you to enact was already making you ache. Sitting up on his bed, legs pressed open, him gripping onto your thigh and desperately rutting against your cunt in an attempt to make some kind of contact. He’d already teased you enough to get you to agree to this, and you were so tightly wound with the need to climax that you were getting irritable.

“Ugh, fuck! Thought I had it!” Digging his sharp nails into the meat of your thigh, trying to shift his position and make it any easier. You let out a little huff, blowing a trailing strand of hair out of your face.

“Scissorin’ doesn’t work anyway.” You grumbled, already slumping back on the bed, accepting that you were probably going to come out of this interaction orgasm-free. Hissing as he kept trying, shifting above you. “Just somethin’ blokes made up for porn.”

“That’s an insult to your lesbian elders, ‘Dents.” He muttered and you couldn’t help but laugh, lie back on the bed.

It was annoying, yes, trying to get off with just the occasional rough bumps to your clit, trying to focus on the feeling his cunt against your’s, the jolt of the hoops that pierced his own clit keeping you alert, just trying to feel anything. But you had to admit that you sort of liked the closeness it was allowing, and you sort of saw the appeal, even if both of you would come out of this unsatisfied.

Eventually though, once he’d shifted enough and you’d complained all you could, the angle was perfect and the feeling of him against you stopped your head working for just a second.

“Fuck, that’s it…” He laughed softly, his grip on your thigh becoming less harsh as he picked up the pace of his thrusts a little more.

It’s soft, warm, something you could probably never replicate without him there. The occasional bumps of metal from his piercings make what little friction there is feel that much better, but you were dripping wet before any of this had even started, and he didn’t take long to get warmed up either, so there was little friction to be had.

God, it was perfect. He was perfect. All the lesbian advice columns you stashed under your mattress were right, you really did just have to find someone who fit with you. And he was that. Nothing like the clumsy attempts that you had made in the past, with high-school girls who were curious but never had any interest in staying after one night.

“Shit, your dick feels so nice, Stu. Y’make me so hard, babe.”

You liked it when he said filthy things like that.

When you rocked your hips in time with him, energy already quickly draining, he let out a long moan, throwing his head back, body arched. Like he was putting on a show, just for you.

You wanted to do so much more now. You wanted to feel everything that he could show you, be as young and as stupid and as inexperienced as he wanted you to be just so things like this would never stop.

The pace got vicious as you both got closer to climax, so much so it was getting harder to keep quiet, especially not when he bit love bites down your neck, rubbed rough hands down your chest, groping and squeezing you, tracing over your nipples while they still had so much sensitivity. He always used that to his advantage, unfairly at times. Make the most of it while you still have it, he said.

And fuck, you couldn’t argue with him when it felt so fucking good.

He growled soft words into your ear, still rocking his hips against yours, and you could tell how close he was just by the way he spoke. How he told you how much he liked seeing you like this. How pretty you were, how good your little dick felt against him. How much he liked your chest, how much he wanted to pierce your nipples while you could still feel pain there.

“Beautiful boy.” He whispered, nipping at the hoop through your ear, giving it an affectionate little tug. “And you’re all mine, aren’t ya?”

“All your’s.” You were so close at this point, you’d say anything for him.

“My perfect boy.”

And that’s when you lose it.


	16. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: What about some cunnilingus with trans 2D? (maybe a bit of overstim too, Murdoc gets so into it he forgets to stop for a second)

Warm, wet, slick against your cunt.  

Hips pinned down so there wasn’t a chance of you bucking your hips against him, making him go any faster. Even in a position like this, beneath you, he was so domineering and intimidating that you wouldn’t have even thought about doing anything he wouldn’t want you too.

You gripped the sheets tight, he hasn’t tied you down this time, biting your lip, watching as he ate you out, pressing his tongue against your hole, using that length for something finally. Driving you so wild that you couldn’t help but squirm underneath him helplessly, beg him for something more, please, anything. He bites your thigh teasingly, growls at you to keep still and he’ll think about it, and you do. If there’s even a chance of quick release, you’ll take it.

When he focuses on your throbbing clit, that’s when you can’t even think, let alone move or speak.

It was heavenly, in every worst possible way. Little jolts of electricity being shot through your body, keeping you constantly on edge, making every single nerve spark up with radiating white heat, just from that miniscule amount of attention on your clit.

It felt good, so fucking good, that it almost hurt. You couldn’t stop the spasms or the shakes wracking your body, whimpering from the white hot pain that you didn’t want to ever, ever stop. You hoped that he wouldn’t think you didn’t like this. You felt the need to tell him.

A sicker part of you wondered what it would feel like to only feel this. This heat. How long it would take before you were sobbing, begging for anything, any kind of release. Maybe tied down, maybe gagged so you couldn’t even beg. Your assailant (assailants maybe) alternating between their lips and tongue and a vibrator, perhaps, a powerful one that was kept in a wardrobe for special occasions (Birthdays, Winter Solstice, Hanukkah. The like.) What it would feel like to keep being pushed closer to your edge through this horrible pain, but never be able to reach it. You wondered how long it would take before it would become too much. A while, you think, you have a decent tolerance.

But right now, this sight of him between your legs, casually looking up at you trembling underneath him and being satisfied enough to keep going is enough. It’s too much, almost, but you don’t care.

All you know is that you never want this agony to stop. 


	17. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: 2d getting fingered by murdoc in public and soaking his underwear

You didn’t know what was up with him today.

Maybe it was the sheer amount of meetings the two of you had to go to getting under his skin. Lord knows it irritated you. It was expected, when you were trying to get more singles out and you needed to market it somehow, but today in particular was taking the piss.

A breakfast meeting (at nine in the fucking morning), two more in the afternoon and finally, “drinks” with your producers tonight.

Having to leave the flat at seven to get the train down to the offices gave you reason enough to complain and smoke to access while you queued for expensive coffee just to keep you awake. You paid and he said nothing of it, kept silent as you walked to the station, bought your tickets into the city and waited at the platform for your train to arrive. You sipped from your cup, watching him, waiting for him to say something. But he didn’t. Shoved his hands into his pockets and stared ahead until the train pulled up.

It was busier than usual, full of businessmen in suits and school kids taking the daily commute, but there was a booth seat free where the two of you could sit. You finished your coffee and he stayed silent. You kept looking at him, seeing if his expression had changed at all, if he was giving off any tell tale vibes of being annoyed or pissed off, but he looked more tired if anything else. That explained it enough for you though, and you stopped worrying about what he might have been thinking.

After ten minutes, and after most of the kids had piled off of the train, you stood up to see if you could find a bin for your empty cup anywhere in the carriage, though your train of thought was halted, momentarily, when Murdoc grabbed at your coat sleeve and dragged you over towards the train bathroom, ignoring any of your hushed protests.

When the door was shut and locked, he wasted no time at all in shoving you against the wall, his hands unbuckling your belt and pushing your jeans down your hips.

“Fuck, ya don’t know how horny I am right now, Stu.” He said, keeping his voice low as he pressed two fingers up against the front of your boxers, touching you up through the rough fabric.

“At eight in the morning?” You asked, pitch raised over so slightly as he kept touching, pressing against your cunt, already feeling the dampness that was starting to soak through. “Fuckin’ hell, Murdoc!”

“Shhh sh, don’t want anyone hearin’ ya, do we?” Moving the fabric of your boxers over, rubbing a harsh finger over your clit, made you gasp and whine even louder. “Sweet satan, you’re already hard, aren’t ya? Dirty little pervert.” He chuckled roughly, nipping at your neck and pressing a finger, two fingers inside of you with ease. “So wet as well. Bet you could take my dick already, couldn’t you?”

You nodded quickly, pressing a clenched fist against your mouth to stop yourself being any louder, knowing that would only encourage him to make you want to make more noise, create more attention to the hapless bystanders just outside the door. Thank fuck there wasn’t anyone else waiting for it.

He shoved your jeans down around your ankles, made you turn away from him and pushed you hard against the bathroom wall.

Easy access.

He didn’t waste time in anymore teasing, pressed himself inside you quickly and thrusted deep, biting down on your shoulder to stop any noises himself. You were already wet before he’d even touched you (maybe gotten a little handsy in the five minute shower you had before he’d woken up) so it was easy for him to push in and out inside of you, barely any resistance there to stop him.

It’s rough and dirty, too fast to enjoy it properly, and for some weird reason that’s why you liked it so much. You bucked your hips back desperately for him, in time with his harsh thrusts, so it would be easier, and you could cum quicker.

He cums before you do for a change, but you can barely consider it before something else is pressed inside of you, taking it’s place, making you gasp with surprise. A didlo, not too long, but thick enough that it felt a little uncomfortable and unwieldy. Nothing you’re not used to though.

He pulled your boxers up quickly so that the dildo was effectively pinned in place, though he still teased your still erect clit.

“Wish I had somethin’ better to keep this in place.” He purred with an affectionate little tap on the base of the dildo. “Does the job though. Keeps everythin’ inside, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t know why it hadn’t struck you that he came inside you until he mentioned it, but now you were hyper aware of it. Just like him to have you do something like this, and you weren’t sure if this was incredibly filthy or just egotistical.

“Think y'can keep that there through our meetings, sweetheart?” He asked, an affectionate tone to his voice as he kept touching your clit. “Shouldn’t be too hard, yeah? Nah, not hard at all.”

You were getting closer, and he could tell. He could always tell.

“I’ll make sure t'give ya somethin’ nice if you do, mate, trust me.”

And with that he left you to sort yourself out.

You couldn’t have imagined what sort of state you must have been in. Cum soaking your underwear, trying not to flinch as you pulled up your jeans because you felt so weirdly full. Even worse when you actually left the bathroom and had to walk back to your seat (next to him) and find a comfortable seating position that would accommodate this new intrusion.

He just smiled, wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close, his other hand resting on your knee. The picturesque image of domesticity.

You just hoped no-one else would be able to tell what was going on. 


	18. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Based off that ask about murdoc calling 2D pretty, how about murdoc loving getting 2D all flusteted by calling him petnames.

“Come on, darlin’. If you speak you’ll get your treat, I promise.”

Heavy cuffs bound you, kept you from doing anything he didn’t want, a thick leather collar around your neck reminded you of your place, despite the position he’d put you in. A matching leash clipped to the collar is kept taught at his side, so he can move you however he wanted. But not yet, no, you had to do something he wanted first.

“I know you’re not deaf, angel. So listen to me.”

His pet names for you was always something that got you going, made your cheeks flush and fueled a longing to do whatever he said inside of you, just so you would get those names some more, some kind of praise. A pat on the head, a scratch behind your ear. Everything a loyal dog could want from his master.

“Murdoc-”

“Ah ah ah, you know what I wanna hear, pet.” He grinned, baring sharp teeth that got your nerves running wild, leaning back against the bed and keeping the leash tight. “Bark for me. Like a little puppy, yeah? Then you’ll get what you want.”

You could feel your face burning, quickly spreading to your ears and down your neck. Hopefully the natural light of Murdoc’s van might have made it look a bit less obvious, but you knew he could tell, because he could always tell. And he loved it when you were like this.

You looked down, fiddling with your fingers, making the chain that locked your wrists together jangle softly before you did as you were told.

You barked.

Keeping your voice quiet, of course, mostly so you didn’t have to hear it that clearly yourself, but that was all Murdoc needed. He yanked the leash hard, pulling you closer so you were practically on top of him, your dick against his, aching and throbbing together.

“That’s a good boy~” He cooed, petting your hair affectionately, and any shame you might have had from barking before was immediately gone as you leaned up into his touch, smiling so much it made your face ache. “Can you do it again for me, pretty boy? Can you be a good pup?”

So you did. Again and again, getting louder and more sure of yourself with each praise and each pet name, and you knew he loved that. As much as he said he didn’t he loved seeing you enthusiastic. You were almost sad about not having a tail to wag for him, so he could see how happy you were, but you were sure he would find a way to rectify that somehow.

“Such a beautiful boy.” He said, cupping your chin and stroking down your cheek with the hand that held the leash so tight. “Can you put your paws up for me, angel? So I can see ‘em?”

You did as you were told, almost immediately, and he scratched your head, behind your ears as a reward, just where you liked it. You’re panting, tongue slack and hanging out your mouth, whining for more of his attention. Though it still got you flustered and blushing when he said sweet things to you, treated you nicely, you loved it, and you knew he did as well.

He kissed over your ear affectionately, still scratching at your head.

“Such a good boy~” He purred. “I think you deserve a reward for being so good, don’t you, angel?”

You nodded, still keening up against him, nuzzling his hands so you would make him happy. In all truth, you didn’t care that much about a reward anymore. You’d gotten used to this play and you liked it, more than you thought you would. But your dick still throbbed for attention and you wanted that, desperately.

He gripped your dicks together tight, forcing a soft moan out of you as he started to work you over (though not neglecting his own dick either.) Being touched by him after waiting for it felt good, felt really fucking good, and your hips jutted up desperately for more attention.

“Y'wanna fuck me, pup?” He whispered, licking over the shell of your ear and you whined, high pitched and loud. “Y'wanna fuck your master?”

And because you couldn’t say yes, please, I want to, let me fuck you, please, you barked and whined and whimpered for him. And that’s exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Good boy.” 


	19. 2DOC (sorta)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Bye pls do at least a weight gain drabble

Murdoc didn’t like to consider himself superficial.

No, no, he wasn’t that type of man.

He wasn’t the type to turn down a perfectly good fuck just because someone didn’t live up to some kind of standard that barely applied to anyone. He might have had a type, yes, but the point still stood.

Despite this though, he couldn’t help but notice that Stuart had gained weight recently.

Not that this looked bad on him, oh no, if anything he pulled it off quite gracefully. And it didn’t seem to bother him or slow him down in anyway, so it wasn’t a point of concern. Just something he had noticed out of curiosity alone. And maybe because he liked looking at the little belly that fell over his jeans from time to time, if he was dressing appropriately.

Maybe it was the stress of the upcoming album, the shows, the tours. Though that had never happened to him before. He’d seen the man survive a day of recording on a cigarette and a cup of black tea before, and that was him at his peak level of stress. So it couldn’t have been that.

Maybe it was an age thing. He wasn’t as spry as he used to be, perhaps, barely had the metabolism of a twenty year old anymore. And it didn’t help that they were back in London for recording either, where they had artisanal vegan bakeries and takeaways a phone call away, and they were getting perks and gifts from companies wanting to sponsor shows as well and he didn’t like to be wasteful.

Though it wasn’t like Murdoc hadn’t experienced the exact same thing when he first hit his mid-thirties. So he wasn’t judging in the slightest.

It was just more noticeable with Stuart.

In the early days of the band, he barely had an ounce of fat on him. This wasn’t a good thing, mind, since there wasn’t any muscle either, and his allergies and dietary requirements would mean he’d have to miss out on things the rest of the band took for granted. He’d get dizzy if he stood up too quickly, faint if he had to walk longer than it took to get to a bus stop. He was malnourished to a tee, so seeing him actually keep food down and like it was refreshing, and probably not only to Murdoc either.

It’s brought up when they’re outside the recording studio, sitting on a crumbled down piece of wall and sharing a cigarette in comfortable silence. When Stuart stood up, he grimaced, tugging at his jeans.

“What’s wrong with you?” Murdoc asked, glancing up at him over the cigarette that needed lighting up again.

“Jeans are a bit tight.” He muttered softly, trying to tug at the waistband. “Can ya check the label for me? Might have gotten Noodle’s out of the wash instead.”

Murdoc leaned forward to look at the label, glanced back up at Stuart.

“Primark, men’s jeans, size thirty four.” Exhaling smoke with a little smirk. “Don’t think they’re Noodle’s, mate.”

“Fuckin’ hell, thirty four?” He repeated, sitting back down. “Only got these jeans a fortnight ago as well.”

“It’s those vegan pastries you keep gettin’ from Covent Garden.” Murdoc said idly, passing him the cigarette. “They’re fuckin’ dangerous, I’ll tell ya.”

“Yeah, but they’re vegan.” Stuart frowned, taking a long drag.

“And?”

Pause.

“They’re not as bad for ya.”

Fucking idiot.

“Just because they don’t have eggs in ‘em don’t mean they’re good for you, ya dolt.”

“Oh.” Another pause. “Yeah, guess that makes sense.” Stuart mumbled, looking down to his feet. “Pretty sure I was a twenty-six at some point, ya know.”

“You mean when you were malnourished and you couldn’t keep up with us when we ran for the coach to our first festival gig cus all the blood rushed to your head? And Noodle had to carry you so we wouldn’t miss it? She was fifteen, mate.”

Stuart was quiet again, tapping ash away from his cigarette. Just seeing him look like that made Murdoc feel bad about his tangent, so he moved closer to him, wrapped an affectionate arm around his shoulder and pulled him close.

“It’s cute.” Resting a hand on his knee. “If anyone was gonna suit love handles, it’d be you. Plus ya look like an actual person now, instead of a stick insect who learned how to speak.”

That made him laugh, which in turn made Murdoc smile. Always managed to do that to him.

“Cheers.” Stuart said softly, resting his head against his shoulder, and they allowed themselves to enjoy this moment of now rare intimacy together, just for a minute.

“Should probably lay off those pastries though.”

“Yeah, might be an idea.” 


	20. 2D + OC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Backstory idea: 2ds first time with a guy?

Mum said it was weird for boys your age to have sleepovers.

Dad said it was fine.

Mum turned her nose up at it, saying that she’d ring Martin’s mum about him actually staying once she got changed out of her scrubs.

Dad managed to convince her out of it by taking her out, first time he had in awhile. Left you with a tenner so you could go to the chippy or a video to watch while they were gone.

Martin wanted to get a horror movie, but you weren’t allowed the good ones. Settled on a new one that had come in that looked decent enough, even though it probably wouldn’t have any zombies or anything you liked.

You shared a large bag of chips covered in salt and vinegar and stared up at the flickering screen as you ate, captivated by the gushes of red and the lack of attachment anyone had to their limbs. Your gaze switched from the screen to Martin occasionally, just watching him react to all of this. The flickering on the screen made his already pale skin look sickly, and the barely there bags under his eyes even more obvious but you didn’t mind it nearly as much as you should have. Part of you even thought he looked handsome, in a weird way, even in his stained uniform and a wooden fork hanging from his mouth.

“Your mum’s kind of a bitch, ‘ent she?” He said, looking at you, oblivious to your obnoxious staring.

“Nah, she’s just…protective, I suppose.” You mumbled, sprearing your own fork into a soggy chip. “Doesn’t want me to get hurt or get with the wrong crowd. Somethin’ like that.”

“Bit late on that.” He replied, grinning. He cracked one of his front teeth a few weeks ago and hadn’t gotten around to getting it fixed yet, but you didn’t mind, and neither did he. He said it made him look tough. You said it made him look like a wanker, which made him laugh.

You smiled, and looked back at the screen, not wanting to say what you wanted to say. Just ate more of the chips until your stomach hurt.

“'Ere, Stu. Can I ask you somethin’?” He interrupted the silence (or lack thereof, considering the grizzly murder happening on the screen.)

“What?”

“Ya know Paula?”

“I know of her.”

Speaking, naturally, of your mutual best friend who you’d both known since the first day of year seven and who you had spent every lunch break with together since that day, as if you didn’t know her.

Martin’s brow furrowed a little and he put his fork down, looking up at the screen again so he didn’t have to look at you.

“Ya think if I asked her to end of year disco, it would be gay?”

“What? No, course not.” You frowned at his question, sitting up a little, like you were challenging him. “Why would it be?”

“I dunno, mate, I mean-”

“Nah, don’t explain yourself.” You said, interrupting him.”Don’t be a twat, Martin, 'course it wouldn’t be gay. Looks like every other girl in our year, doesn’t she?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Ain’t a but to it. She’s a girl, you’re a boy. Stop talkin’ shit or you’ll sound like Keith if you’re not careful.”

Martin was quiet again, obviously taken aback by your slight outburst, looking back down at the greasy paper. The girl on the telly screamed and when you looked up the red burst of blood was enough to put you off your food. Never mind the bad taste you had in your mouth now.

“Yeah.” He said finally. “You’re right.” Taking his fork again and prodding at a mound of chips that were already going cold. “Think I should ask her then?”

“Yeah, you should.” You said, and your anger had subsided a bit more. Martin wasn’t malicious in anyway, he was just an idiot. And it didn’t help that you were fiercely protective over Paula either when you really didn’t have a reason to be, she was very capable of that herself. You just sighed, running your hands through your hair. “I know she’d like that a lot, mate.”

“Why haven’t you asked her yet then?” He asked.

“Dunno.” You said with a shrug. “Don’t think she’d be that interested in me.”

“Ya don’t know that.” He said, sitting up and leaning closer towards you. “Might be you she’s waiting for.”

“Yeah, might be.”

-

When the film was finished and you both polished off the last of the chips with an hour of shit late night television, you asked him if he wanted to go upstairs and he said yes.

He had a cigarette out of your window while you sifted through your meager collection of vinyl records for something good to listen to. Martin talked about how he was going to ask for a CD player for his birthday because vinyls were so expencive. You nodded along with whatever he was saying, pulling out a Joy Division record and taking it out of it’s sleeve.

“D'ya think she’ll say yes?” Martin said, and for some reason that was what alerted you. You glanced back at him, leaning over your window sill, the window still wide open. His trousers were slipping down a little, his uniform shirt riding up enough that you could see the band of his boxers.

“Er, what?” You quickly looked back at the record, trying to justify whatever feelings or thoughts you might have had in your head and fight off the heat burning your face. Maybe every boy thought like this, every one saw their closest friend like this.

“Paula. Think she’ll say yes if I ask her to the disco?” He repeated, turning around to look at you.

“Oh.” Looking back at him, hoping that you were blushing a little less. “I dunno. Maybe.” Back at your record. “Better just ask her, mate, I dunno what’ll happen.”

“Hope she says yes.” Martin said, and your heart winced at how pleased he sounded. He stubbed out his cigarette and walked over to you, kneeling down to look at the record, like he was waiting for you to play it. “You gonna ask anyone?”

“Nah, don’t think so.” You mumbled, putting the record down for a second to lift the lid of your player up, then put the record on. “Dunno if I’m gonna go, actually.”

“You what? Aw, Stu, you have to come!” You suddenly didn’t like how close he was to you. “Ain’t gonna be any fun if ya don’t.”

“Yeah, well, you’re just gonna be with Paula anyway.” You said harshly, putting the needle onto the record and turning the volume down so the guitars and vocals were softer. “Won’t even notice me being there.”

“Stuart, come on, don’t be like that.” He said, voice almost soft, his eyebrows knit together. “She might not even say yes.”

“But she might say yes.” Glaring at him. “Then what’ll happen, eh? You go off shaggin’ her and forget all about me, is that it?”

“Why are ya bein’ like this, ya twat?” He shouted.

“Cus you’re my best friend, alright!” You shouted back, louder, so loud it drowned out the soft music. “A-And she’s my…my best friend as well.” You couldn’t be too obvious, of course. Even though you hated to see him looking at you like that. And you hated the idea of him forgetting you. Like you hated the idea of her forgetting you.

It was all very complicated.

“Do you like her, or somethin’?” He asked, an eyebrow raised. He was quieter though, so he wasn’t angry.

“I dunno.” You admitted, your voice was small.

“Mate, if you do, I’ll let you ask her first, alright?” He said, moving closer, smiling again, showing off the tooth crack that you liked so much. “I mean, I like her, yeah, but you’re my friend. You’ll always matter more to me than a girl does, yeah?”

And he was so sincere, so gentle and kind in that moment, you couldn’t help but kiss him. Sudden and without warning, while the record player played.

And the few seconds that he didn’t pull back, that it actually felt he kissed you back, were worth the punch to the face he gave you afterwards. The strings of abuse, the shouting. The rushed explanations you gave, trying to defend yourself. The death glare as he didn’t believe a word of it. The way he pushed past you to leave, how loud it sounded when he pounded down the stairs and left your house, banging the door hard as he left.

The loneliness. 


	21. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: 2d stepping on murdoc's dick n making him squirm

“Look at me.”

He hesitates, doesn’t immediately look at you, he’s still got a stubborn streak that you haven’t broken out of him yet.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“No.”

“Then look at me.”

It feels strange being in this position after years of it being the other way round, though you like it more than you should. Him on his knees in front of you, you above him. You with all the power, him reduced to nothing. You know it makes him uncomfortable, when you talk to him like this, but he always says yes.

When he finally looks at you, you slap him, hard enough that it makes a sound that even you flinch at. His head jerks to the side, breath hard and ragged as if he didn’t expect it. He doesn’t look at you again.

“Don’t even pretend that you’re upset.” You say harshly, uncrossing your legs. “That would imply that you even have feelings when you’re barely a person t'begin with.” Spreading your legs apart in front of him, knowing full well that your dick would already be pressing up against the front of your trackies. You almost laugh when he can’t stop staring at it. “You’re a creature. An animal if anything.”

“I’m not-”

“Did I say you could speak?”

Silence again. You wish you could take a picture of his face in that moment. But this wasn’t a rare occurrence anymore, thankfully. You’d have opportunities like this again.

“Did.” You start, pushing a hand through his hair roughly, pulling it hard so he had to look at you. “I say.” Pressing the sole of your foot hard against his dick, grinding your heel down so he grimaces, bites his lip, but his hips buck up against you, desperate for more. “You could talk?”

When he doesn’t answer, you slap him again. Your grip on his hair stops his head from jerking like it usually does, and you can see his expression. The barely there tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. You almost want them to spill, so you’ll know that he actually feels something.

“No. You didn’t.” He says through grit teeth, and you grind your foot down against him even harder, and all he could do was whimper, bite his lip some more. Be satisfied with the minimal amount of attention you were giving to him lest you stop it all together. Bad attention was better than none at all.

“Then why do you keep speakin’, hm?” You say softly, running your knuckles down his sore cheek as an almost apologetic gesture. He still winces when you touch him though. You’ve come not to mind it terribly.

“I-I don’t know.” The statement is almost an admission of defeat, and if his position allowed it, his head would be hanging in embarrassment. Precisely the reason you had to be so personal in situations like this.

“You don’t know?” You repeat, and he nods, as much as he can despite the tight grip you still have on his hair. When you grind your heel down again, his hips jut at the attention again. A dry laugh slips from your lips. “Of course you don’t. Shouldn’t expect a pathetic little worm like you t'think about anything other than what gets his dick hard, eh?

He says nothing.

“Nothin’ t'say now? Funny, you were so chatty before.”

“You just punish me if I do.” He mumbles. “No point in it.”

“Do y'think you don’t deserve it?” You ask, brows raised just waiting for any kind of reasoning he might have given you.

Again, he doesn’t answer, and then you laugh almost spitefully.

“Are you pretending that you don’t?” When he’s still quiet, you raise the foot on his dick, just to bring it down, hard, hard enough that you know that it hurts. “Admit it. You deserve it, and you get off on it. You can’t lie to me when it’s right here.”

“Fuck off.”

You slap him again, eliciting a vocal reaction from him, the tears that were just pinpricks before threatening to spill down his cheeks. You’d almost think that he didn’t like it, your abuse, but his dick throbs under your foot and beads of cum smear against your skin.

He can’t even pretend to hate it.

“Tell me you like it.”

“‘Dents, come on.”

Slap. Tears are spilling now.

“Tell me you love it when I treat you like this.”

“You’re pushin’ it.”

Slap. He’s breathing heavy, trembling, tears won’t stop spilling.

“Tell me how much you want me to punish you.

"I can’t-”

Slap. He swears, loudly, his body is hunched like he’s trying to hide himself from you. You can feel that he’s close, he doesn’t even need you to fuck him to get him off anymore. It takes weeks of training for the body to respond to submission, much longer for the mind. You’re getting closer with every day though.

“Want it.” He mumbles, looking at you through teary eyes. Would have made you feel something, a kind of guilt at some point, but not anymore. He didn’t deserve your guilt, lord knows he never gave you any.

“What do you want?” You say softly, wiping a tear away with your thumb.

“Pain. Punishment. Anythin’ you wanna give me, I’ll take it.” Kissing the palm of your hand, desperately trying to soften you despite how long you’d tried to harden your core. “Please.”

You cut off whatever he’s saying by stuffing your briefs past his parted lips, and he lets you, because you couldn’t be softened anymore. No sense in him trying to.

“You’re right about that, at least.” You say, still rubbing your foot along his aching length. “You will take what I give you. I’d say whether you like it or not, but you wouldn’t complain about anything, would you?”

He nods, groaning against the fabric heavy on his tongue. Somehow he’s less reluctant when he doesn’t have to worry about what he’ll say.

“Bend over.” You whisper, and he doesn’t have to be told twice. 


	22. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a part two from something i don't remember. not gonna finish lol

The breakfast meeting had been…alright.

Maybe a little uncomfortable. And people kept looking at you as you kept shifting in your seat, just trying to find a comfortable position that wouldn’t hurt too much or make you squirm. Apologising whenever you made too much noise with your constant moving.

A young intern asked if you were alright, in a soft Scottish accent, or if you needed anything. And you just smiled, albeit a little forced, and said you were fine. Because there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to tell her the truth, that there was a dildo lodged a firm seven inches up your fanny and you were finding it a little uncomfortable to sit on for an extended amount of time. You weren’t that stupid.

Murdoc kept busy during the meeting as he always did, talking constantly and gesturing dramatically, saying everything on his mind without any kind of filter, not letting any of the office workers get a word in edgeways. Kept looking over at you though, as if he was waiting for you say something, add anything to the conversation. You’d just nod, agree with whatever he said, and then he’d keep talking. He never gives anything away, not even for a second.

You finish up just before half eleven, shoving your coats and bags back on hurriedly, shaking hands with strangers as they said things about sending you forms in the post, please don’t hesitate to call us if you need anything, wonderful meeting the two of you, we’re expecting great things.

You smiled politely, the way you were supposed to with business people, even though you had no idea what they were talking about. Murdoc was always the one who dealt with all this stuff, it was his band after all. You were just there to be a pretty face to put onto the music, be a representative, as it were.

The two of you left the busy group to talk amongst themselves some more, since you didn’t have anything more to add to their conversations, and walked through the massive building, trying to find wherever the lift might have been.

“Well, I think that went well.” He said, wrapping an arm around your waist affectionately, a hand on your hip. Acting almost clueless to your slight limp, how tight your body was against him, how much you had squirmed during the meeting.

“Y-Yeah…” You mumbled, looking down at your feet as you walked. “Yeah, it was good.”

“You’re quiet. What’s up with you, eh?” Of course he was acting like this, while there were people around, walking through the office corridors. As if he was trying to be subtle, even though that never worked with you. “You were weird throughout that entire meetin’, weren’t ya?” Pressed a thumb against the elevator button for the ground floor.

“I’m fine.” You said firmly, pulling away from him just slightly as the elevator doors opened.

When you stepped in and the doors slid shut, the clinical professionalism of the small space made you feel claustrophobic, and you just wanted to go back to your grotty, comfortable flat with the scrawled graffiti and poorly drawn knobs on the elevator walls. Even more so when he moved close to you again, a hand on your chest, urging you back against the mirrored wall. Other hand slipping further down, nudging at your stuffed cunt through your jeans slowly and teasingly.

“Mate, come on…” You kept yourself quiet, unsure if there was any cameras or sound recorders in the lift. Really shouldn’t give anyone blackmail material before you even had a career to ruin. “We can’t do this here.”

“Mm, I wasn’t gonna do anythin’, love.” He purred softly, pressing his lips against your neck. Up your jaw, making you shiver under his touch. You gasped and whined from how gentle he was being, making more noise than you wanted to, and he knew that. “Just wanted to wind ya up a bit.” A rough chuckle slipped out of him, and somehow you got it all figured out without him saying another word. “Or…somethin’ else, perhaps.”

“Murdoc…” You whimpered, gripping onto the front of his jumper, rutting against his harsh touches. You could already feel your clit throb from the limited amount of attention he was giving you (though admittedly you were throughout the meeting as well.)

“Was thinkin’ about you all through that meeting, Stu.” He whispered, as if he had read your mind, nipping teasingly at your earlobe. “‘Bout how stuffed your pretty hole must feel, how hard,” Particular emphasis on the last word, pushed even further by how he stopped touching you. “Ya must be achin’ for me.”

As soon as he mentioned it, you clenched hard on the dildo stuffed in your cunt, suddenly hyper aware of just how much it spread you open, how thick it was, how it was keeping everything inside of you. You whimpered again and you felt his sharp grin again your cheek before an affectionate kiss.

“Thought about stuffin’ another of your holes as well.”

He emphasised this point by groping your ass roughly, so hard you could feel his claws through denim. Bit at your neck so it would bruise, so everyone would see. The moan that you let out in response to his threat and the way you so desperately clung onto him only edged his harshness further though. He always loved seeing you like this.

“Like…in the train bathroom again?” You said through your gasps, trying not to lose your head over such simple touches. Like you could help yourself though.

“Yeah.” He said through a harsh snicker. “How about this time I bend ya over this time? Let me see that perfect arse proper before I fuck it, hm?”

God, you were shivering. Nothing could get you going more than when he used that tone, when he baited you like that with threats that only left you wanting more.

You could hear yourself pleading for it, begging like a dog, in a voice that barely sounded like your own. High pitched and needy, simpering soft words and pet names that you knew he liked to be called. Please, I’ll be good, I’ll be a good boy. I want to be fucked and stuffed like a slut. I’ll sit through all our meetings like that if you want. Anything you want, everything you want.

Everything that he wanted to hear.

“Tell me yes.” He says, a hand cupping your cheek, tracing over your lips.

“Yes.” You say, and he kissed you, hard, crushing you under him, so hard that you struggled to breath.

But you wanted nothing else but him against you, so when he pulled away, the doors of the elevator sliding open, you followed after him eagerly, prepared for anything that he might have you do, anything he might do with you.

Because you would do anything for him.

You followed him down one of the visiting halls and into a private bathroom, typically reserved for more hard to please clients, at least you assumed from the luxury of the place. But it was hardly something you considered for long when he clicked the lock shut, stared down at you like a predator at his prey.

You couldn’t help but feel like that sometimes.

“Bend over for me then.” He started, dropping his satchel to the floor and shrugging his coat off.

“Huh?” Innocent as ever, of course. Sometimes he liked that, but playing dumb only got you so far. At least it got you something you liked (most of the time.)

He took slow steps towards you, until you were pressed up against the sink counter, intimidating as ever as you shrank against him. His hands rested either side of your hips, pinning you down, and he slipped his thumbs through the belt loops of your jeans, waiting for the right moment to drag them down and fuck you.

He gripped your face roughly, jerking your face up to look at him. Smirked at the flush that quickly spread across your cheeks but didn’t allow you the privilege of looking away and trying to retain some kind of modesty. That in itself was a privilege when he had you like this.

“Bend over the counter.” He said, his voice clear and smooth, showing you he was serious. “And show me your pretty arse.” Brought his face close, the smirk turning into a sharp grin as he spoke. “Spread yourself open for me so I can see all of it. I know ya can take it.” Voice low, he gave the tip of your nose an affectionate little peck. “You’ve shown me before.”

As soon as he moved back, you were quick to unbutton your jeans and shove them, along with your boxers, down around your knees, turning and bending over the sink counter, as he had asked you to. 

The dildo didn’t even seem to budge from inside you. 


	23. 2DOC (kinda)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn’t have a prompt in my inbox to apply to this so  
> here’s a bit of fluff/angst about murdoc’s mum hell yeah

It seemed customary to wear black.

That’s what you thought.

Then again, he wore black most of the time anyway, so he might not have been dressing for the occasion, but you felt it was appropriate anyway. It was late in October as well, so all black was in fashion again. Not that you thought much about that, but still. Meant you were going to get less questions about it.

He didn’t speak much on the train up to Stoke-On-Trent, or much in the taxi that you needed to take to the graveyard. You didn’t mind though. You liked the quiet sometimes.

There wasn’t a church anywhere near the graveyard he was taking you to, but that might have been a good thing since the two of you walking together so closely would have probably gotten a bad reaction from any kind of pastor or preacher that might have been close by.

He smoked more heavily than usual as he walked in long strides ahead of you, and you followed him with quick, little steps, looking around the rows of graves bathed in the light of the moon. Considering how many of the graves had flowers set in front of them, and feeling bad for not bringing anything yourself.

Maybe next time, if he ever let you do this again.

He eventually stopped in front of an older looking grave, glancing down at it, vapour from the cold drifting above his head as he breathed, mixing with his cigarette smoke. You stood next to him, looking down on the grave yourself.

The marble stone showed natural progressions of age, everything to be expected of a grave that hadn’t been disturbed in close to thirty years. The grass was unkempt this far back in the graveyard, obviously not as meticulously groomed as the newer graves at the front, but you hardly think anyone minded. The yard was empty, this late at night, but even if it hadn’t been, you doubted that anyone would have been close by.

“Well, here’s the closest you’re gonna get to meeting my parents, mate.” Murdoc said gruffly, taking a drag from his cigarette. “She’s not much for conversation, but she’s a great listener.”

He laughed, but you didn’t feel that it was appropriate to.

“Did she not take your dad’s name then?” You asked, eyes quickly scanning over the engraving on the stone and noticing the lack of Niccals moniker.

“Nah. Weren’t married t’begin with, mate.” He said, raising his cigarette again, quicker than he usually did. “Proper pissed off her parents for that, but they hated my dad anyway. Bet they were secretly glad they weren’t married.” Exhaling smoke. “They were just annoyed we weren’t raised Muslim, can’t blame ‘em. Least they came to the funeral.”

“Did your-”

“Nah, Dad didn’t go.” He said, interrupting you. “Was busy with other shit apparently.” He threw his cigarette butt down and stepped on it, grinding his boot down on it to put out the ember. “Shows how much he cared.”

You scratched at the back of your neck awkwardly, burying your hands into your fleece coat pockets, looking from him to the grave over and over again, wondering if you should say anything, though he stayed silent. You didn’t want him to be left with his thoughts when he was clearly in a fragile state.

“Did you know her well?” You asked, and he shrugged his shoulders.

“She died when I was five, so I don’t have much to remember.” He mumbled, looking down at his feet in the wet grass. “She an’ my nan used to make these tart things, covered in strawberries an’ blueberries and shit like that.  And she smelt like vanilla. Her hijab always smelt like vanilla for some reason.” Smiling to himself, shaking his head with a defeated chuckle. “Dunno why she was with my dad. She was too good for him. Too fuckin’ good.” He let out a long, steady sigh, shaking just slightly. If he was anyone else, you might have thought he was about to cry, but he was never that vulnerable. “Wonder sometimes what she’d think of me now if she could see me. If she’d be proud or somethin’.” Frowned again. “Even though I’m the spittin’ image of everything she hated.”

“She wouldn’t hate you.” You said, moving close to him, in a way you would claim to be conserving heat if you were asked about it in the future. “She’d be proud of you. Proud that you made somethin’ so special despite everythin’ that happened. 'Least I’m proud of ya.”

He looked at you with a quirked smile and wrapped an affectionate arm around your waist, pulling you close to his warm body. 

“She would have liked you anyway. Got that t'be proud of.” 


	24. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: This is unrelated to ur current fic but doing smth based on the MSI song seven minutes in heaven would be cute like 2d and murdoc meet at some party and make out in the closet

Admittedly you didn’t really know why you were still crashing first year house parties.

You were still studying at the university, you supposed, even if it was for a Masters degree now, and you had enough friends-of-friends to get you into the place. But when most of the students there were a good ten years younger than you and getting irresponsibly drunk without parental guidance, you did have to ask yourself if there wasn’t possibly a club or a bar you could have gone to and got equally smashed without feeling like you were the dad of a group of teenagers.

Cat and David had come to the party with you, but had slipped away quickly to engage themselves in illegal substances. Crowds of students gathered in the back garden, sharing joints or inhaling a weird gas out of balloon that someone offered to you for a fiver. Milling around the main living space didn’t offer much in terms of enjoyment either, though it did allow you opportunity to steal drinks from people the second they took their eyes off of them. Sipped at a solo cup of too strong cider and vodka as you explored the rest of the frankly massive house, sticking your head into each of the open bedrooms and living spaces to see what was going on and if it was worth sticking around.

When you look into the last bedroom, a circle of people are sitting around a whiskey bottle, a girl with bright purple hair leant in to spin it around, giggling to herself as she looked around the circle, eyes locked on wherever it landed.

Spin the bottle. Or seven minutes in heaven if you were a twat. A classic for teenage party goers and students alike. It was endearing seeing it still being played out, though a person’s need for intimacy and a group’s need for something to giggle about in lectures never went away, no matter how old you were.

The bottle landed on a blond girl with short spiky pigtails, and purple haired girl seems ecstatic about. They stand, link arms and disappear into the ajar cupboard, locking the door and probably getting up to whatever students did together.

“Alrigh’ girls, ya got five minutes!” A welsh boy without a shirt set a timer on his phone, and the entire group are giggling to themselves. When you look over the group again, a certain blue haired Law student with an interest in illegal narcotics and midnight raves catches your eye and you quickly decide that you want to get involved in whatever game this lot were playing.

“Mind if I join you lot?” You ask, finally speaking up and alerting the group of your presence. When he looked at you, you could practically see stars in his eyes as his smile quickly became an excited grin. “Not much goin’ on downstairs, ‘less you consider takin’ inhalents from a balloon as exciting.”

“Fuckin’ hell, are they still doin’ that?” A girl with an Essex accent frowned harshly, sitting up. You had to assume that she was one of the people who lived here.

“It’s not that bad.” Stuart said, making room for you to sit down. “It’s really weak stuff, barely illegal at all.”

“Ain’t the point, Stu.” She replied with a huff. They must have known each other. “Is Amber done in there? Swear t'God those two can’t get their hands off each other lately.”

“As is the will of the bottle.” A white lad with dreadlocks mused thoughtfully and just looking at him annoyed you. “It wanted them together, who are we to get in the way of that?”

“Sounds like you’ve had one too many of those balloons, mate.” Welsh boy spoke again with a grin, before his phone alarm went off. “Oi, Amber! Get ya hand from Lindsey’s trousers, someone else wants a go!”

Amber and Lindsey quickly finished up whatever it was they were doing pretty quickly, and walk out the cupboard, hand in hand, lipstick stains on each other’s cheeks and smeared down their chins. They sat back down in their spaces, though you could see Lindsey subtly adjust her bra.

“Stuart’s go next!” Welsh boy said excitedly, passing him the whiskey bottle. Stuart smiled back at him, leaning forward to give it a good, hard spin in the middle of the group. Just looking at how they interacted gave you a bad taste in your mouth, and that’s not even considering how wicked the mix of cheap cider and expensive vodka was. There must have been some tension between them, or at least that’s what you saw.

Could be wrong.

The group watched the bottle spin and spin around, the whiskey inside being sloshed about audibly inside, and your eyes locked on it as it slowed, going past the Welsh boy, past dreadlocks, past nose piercing, hijab, buzzcut, purple hair and.

It stopped on you.

“Oh, come on!” Welsh boy looked upset which just made you grin even more. “He just got here.”

“As if the will of the bottle, mate.” You said, before looking back at Stuart who seemed just as happy with this arrangement as you did. “Shall we?” Offering him a hand after you stood to your feet.

“We shall.” He said with a giddy little laugh, taking your hand and hopping up to his feet, following you over to the cupboard.

-

As soon as the door was locked, you were on top of him, taking no time to ask him what he’d been up to between the club outing and now, if he’d had exams, his plans for graduation, anything like that.

Not to say you weren’t interested.

It was just you weren’t interested right now, much more important things on the mind.

He didn’t mind all that much though, let himself get pushed up against the back of the cupboard, arms around your neck, shrinking slightly underneath you, clinging onto you.

Tongues clashing, him biting and sucking at your bottom lip whenever he had the chance to, you returning the favour much more harshly so it bruised and bloodied his lips, made it clear to everyone what he’d been up to. You buried your head against his neck and bite on his skin to leave even more reminders, little tokens of ownership that you had over him, despite the dry spell the two of you had from each other.

He didn’t seem to mind though, had no bad blood about it as he moaned and whined as you bit him, gripping onto the fabric of your shirt, digging his nails in. No doubt everyone outside the cupboard were hearing you, even listening in on how you made him sound, but that was fine. As long as they knew not to touch him, because he was your’s, you didn’t mind a little bit of voyeurism here and there.

“Haven’t seen you around.” He gasped out as you bit down his neck some more, tugging open this shirt so you lap at every inch of his skin. “Thought you were-AH! T-Thought you were avoiding me.”

“And if I was?” You said softly, pressing your hands down the back of his jeans to give his perky little ass a nice grope.

“Missed you.” He replied, and the earnestness and naivety of his demeanor compelled you to kiss him, hard, your searing hot lust for him a tidal wave over your self control.

He moaned, hot and heavy, against your lips, and you rock your hips against his, feeling his hard on already through his jeans. You couldn’t say much, since he absolutely felt yours too, and fuck, it takes every bit of self control to not fuck him right there and then.

That and you’re being called on by the rest of the group.

Though he didn’t seem to mind when you didn’t stop kissing, melting against all of your rough touches, your bites, your gropes. Lost in his own little world full of nothing but thoughts of you.

He’s only alerted out of it when the banging on the door started, and you have to peel yourself off of him and stop yourself from cussing the rest of the group out. 


	25. 2DOC + MURDOC/OC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Prompt: Murdoc takes off his clothes, revealing all of his piercings but 2D finds out and Murdoc tells him how he did those on himself.

You had thought he was bluffing, asking you if you could tattoo him as soon as he found out you had the kit for it, because he always wanted one and he didn’t want his parents finding out about it. Though it didn’t surprise you, by the way he always admired your ink and your piercings, always stroked over them when you were in bed together, reading the words on your back, tracing the winding tentacles on your forearm, feeling the cold of the metal on his skin in more intimate moments.

Only made sense for you to do it for him, in that case.

He looked through a book you had while you set up your tattoo gun trying to find something perfect. Gave you a page with a simple crown on it, matched the charm you gave him, a similar tattoo you had on your ankle. He pressed that you both had to customize it when it was on the wax sheet though, so it belonged to both of you, and you agreed to it. Doodled on the sheet while listening to Human League on the radio, his energy buzzing with excitement about what you were about to do together.

You started up the machine, pulled black latex gloves on to keep it sanitary and he sat down, his shirt off, facing backwards as you rubbed the wax sheet onto his skin, leaving the lines of the design you had made together on his skin, allowing yourself a second to admire it before you started.

You pressed the needle against his skin, he hissed as it punctured his skin, over and over, black smearing on near white. You saw his back muscles tense up as you started to trace the waxy outline of his tattoo, so you knew that it hurt. He flinched ever so slightly as you pulled away to dip the needle into the ink pot at your side, shivering while he had the chance to react to the pain without you telling him off.

But he took the pain well.

Better than you thought he would.

“When did y'get your first piercing?” He asked you through grit teeth. He wanted something to distract him so you’d indulge him.

“I was nineteen.” You started, cleaning away the smearing ink and the tiny droplets of blood that were starting to bead on the numerous punctures in his skin. “First year of university in London. A friend convinced me to get it done while he got a tattoo touched up.” Smiling to yourself, just remembering the memory.

“A friend?” He asked, glancing back at you over his shoulder. You raised an eyebrow at him with a quirked grin, waiting for him to push the question some more.

“What, you want me to talk about an ex?” Dipping the needle into ink again. “Thought boyfriends didn’t want to hear about that.”

“I asked about your piercings, so if those two things are related, I don’t mind.” You could hear the smile on his voice, though he was still flinching as soon as you got back to tattooing him. “Can’t blame me for bein’ interested.”

“‘Spose not.” You mused, dabbing at your new lines. “His name was Mikey. I sucked him off in a gay bar and we became mates not long after that.” Back to tracing. “He worked at the shop where I got my first piercing, so he knew the blokes that did everything. Played good music, stuff that inspired me, all that shit.”

“Did they do your other ones?” When you moved to dip your needle, he repositioned himself against you, folding his arms on the table in front of him, and resting his head in the support he made for himself.

“Some of 'em.” You smiled, gesturing at yourself though he couldn’t see. “I did all the helix ones myself though.”

“You did five piercings by yourself?” He said, looking back at you, his forehead wrinkling with a grimace. “Fuckin’ hell, Murdoc, ya got some drive to your aesthetic, don’t ya?”

“It was the eighties. Y'had fuck all else t'do except mutilate yourself in the name of Boy George.”

“You don’t strike me as a Wham fan, actually.”

“That’s George Michael, ya bellend.”

You had finished tracing one spike of his crown, closing up one of the excessively detailed edges. He seemed fine to keep going without a break, so you leant down against him again, after topping up your ink.

“Any other ones I don’t know about?” He asked, and you felt his muscles tremble as you started on a new section of lines.

“Well, one time, we all got drunk in the shop and they took it in turns to pierce my bits.” Laughing to yourself when he was suddenly silent and still. “Don’t wear those ones anymore, but it was a fun night.”

“You had a group of drunk men take it in turns to pierce your nineteen year old dick?”

“Well, see, when y'say it like that, ya make it sound so ugly.” You said, reaching over to dip the needle again. “And I was twenty one by that point. Not nearly as bad as you’re makin’ it sound.”

“And he was okay with that? Mikey, I mean.” He asked, before hissing and swearing under his breath when you moved further up his back to top off the spike with a traced diamond.

“What can I say. Mikey liked t'share.” You mumbled, and he didn’t push it anymore.

You wiped the dirty tissue over his your lines again, moving back to admire the tattoo so far. Maybe to admire the way Stuart was shifting, trembling underneath you, how he wasn’t hissing with pain so much anymore, even sighing as you worked on top of him.

Of course.

You threw the well-worn tissue away and tugged a new one out of the baggie, dapping away the bloody spots blooming on his skin, maybe ignoring (though not voluntarily) the barely there moan he let out when you stoked over his throbbing skin. Maybe from relief, maybe from something else.

Who knew.

“Had a nose piercing for a bit actually.” You continued, starting up on some new lines for the final spike of the crown. He couldn’t take much more and you wouldn’t put him through it (though he probably could have forced himself to take it, if you were more of a sadist.) “Shoved a safety pin right through it so I could look like Sid Vicious.” Pause. “Without the drug addiction or killing of significant others though.”

“Thought y'didn’t like the Sex Pistols.” He mumbled almost dreamily, eyes slipping shut as he got used to the consistant pain of the needle. Only took him twenty minutes on the first go, probably way less on the next time round. Good lad.

“Yeah, but I always thought Sid was fit.” Wiping away more streaking ink, smirking to yourself when his moan got higher, louder. More obvious that he wanted you to hear it.

“Did that lot do your Prince Albert as well?” He asked, squinting at you over his shoulder. “Since they’d gotten so familiar with your package before.”

“Nah, nah, that was a late twenties thing.” Dipping the needle with a little laugh to yourself. “A little something just for me to enjoy, if you will. All the other ones were about aesthetics, y’know. The look.” Thinking to yourself as you traced another detailed patch of the crown. “Like, see, punk was always supposed to be about not giving a shit about what y'looked like, yeah, but when you’re a brown twenty kid in the middle of London, y'put in a bit more effort than everyone else does. Otherwise you’re faking.”

He made a soft, somewhat sympathetic sound of agreement, eyes slipping shut as you kept working, and he finally stopped shaking underneath you and allowed you to work without any kind of disturbance (apart from his little whines and moans when you stoked him, when you hit a sensitive spot.)

"That why y'don’t wear them anymore?” He asked, and you shrugged to yourself.

You liked the nipple rings, the studs in your lobes, the slim hoops that adorned your helix, but most of your piercings were stuck in a box in your van, and the scars had been left to heal over the fifteen years that they’d been empty.

Some of them just didn’t fit right with you anymore.

“Maybe.” You mumbled softly, and he didn’t ask anymore. Just let you keep working.

After ten minutes of semi-silence (no conversations, but enough whimpering and whining from him to make up for it), you switched off the machine and set the needle down to admire the tattoo.

A three spiked crown design, filled with simple little patterns that both you and him had done together. A diamond topped the middle, biggest spike, highlighted the slight protrusion of the bones of his spine. Nothing big, nothing fancy. Just something that tied him to you, tied you to him.

Your way of claiming him like others had claimed you.

Just thinking about it made you sort of excited.

“Wanna look at it?” You asked, tugging off the latex gloves as he quickly hopped up onto his feet and rushed to the bathroom to admire his new ink in the mirror. Cleaning everything up as he gushed excitedly about it, told you how much he loved it.

Sat in your lap as you taped down a thin sheet of cellophane (though he wasn’t going to be putting his shirt back on anytime soon) and kissed your cheek as you asked him how he was going to pay for it.

Gasped out a steady little sigh when you pushed a hand down the front of his jeans, stroking at his erect clit, how wet his hole was already, and whispered to him that he’d turned you on, whimpering so pretty when you tattooed him, he must have really liked it to get wet so quickly.

When you suggested a good, hard fuck in return for the tattoo, he said yes before he could even comprehend what you said.

And it helped. Made you forget your healing piercing scars, the tattoos you had that tied you to so many other people that had claimed you before he could.

Maybe you could take a turn next time.

Needed a cover-up anyway.


	26. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Omg please

Pale aesthetics, pale bondage. A white tennis skirt riding up his thighs, a hitched up t-shirt far too small for him showed off his flat chest, puffy pink nipples from being bitten and sucked so feverishly before he’d even gone under. White ropes did nothing to restrain him, not tonight, just tied in a simple tortoiseshell harness. Rope between his legs, against his bare cunt, something easy to grind against if he could actually form those kind of thoughts.

It wasn’t really anything you found that appealing, and the pale colours washed out his skin even more, practically made it white, like porcelain, the only imperfections in the smooth finish being his light freckles, his fading scars. Even more breakable and delicate under your touch though. Like he’d crack if you touched him wrong.

You wanted to find out if you could make him crack.  

“You have any idea how stupid y'sound right now.”

He was trying to speak around your fingers in his mouth, gripping at your trouser leg, on his knees in front of you.

You’d put him under not long after he dressed up for you, after you’d tied his harness, collared him, made him your’s with a heart shaped declaration. You didn’t want to see him so embarrassed, since he always was in situations like this, and you knew he liked not having to think about that sort of thing.

Win win.

You ran a finger over his back molars curiously, ignoring the excessive amount of saliva now drooling from his slack tongue. He’d complained about a new tooth chipping earlier that week, and you wanted to assess the damage. You were sure you could misconstrue your interest for something inherently sexual, kinky, and true, maybe you wanted to see if your favourite (and only) sex doll was still working the way it should. But you had other reasons outside of your interest in weird types of sex.

But the chip wasn’t too bad. Obviously not ideal, but something to be expected at this point.

“Teeth lookin’ as shit as ever, dolly.” You muttered softly, taking your fingers out of his mouth and wiping the excessive amount of drool off on your trouser leg. “Too stupid to look after yourself properly, hm?”

“Uh huh.” He agreed, mumbling with a lazy smile, glassy, empty eyes half lidded, looking up at you. “That’s why y'look after me, right?” Resting his head against your thigh, white skin against black denim, giggling softly to himself as he played with the hem of his skirt. “Cus I’m too stupid t'do it myself, riiiiight?”

His lips were slightly parted, still shiny with spit, drool still dripping from his chin and leaving damp spots on the front of his shirt, down his chest. You should have probably scolded him for being messy, excessive when he didn’t need to be, though it would have made little sense when his brain wasn’t even there to comprehend being told off. Would have just been for your own satisfaction, denying Stuart his chance to be a good boy for master, denying any kind of praise and a reward for good behaviour. It would still be a punishment, even when his brain wasn’t one hundred percent there.

“Least you’re smart enough t'know that.” You ruffled his hair affectionately, and he keened up against your touch, eyes slipping shut as he relished in your touch.

“Nah, I’m reeeally stupid.” He drawled, tone practically sing-song as he sat up, leaning in closer to you. “That’s what Sir always tells me, anyways.”

“Oh, does he?” You start with a smirk, stroking down his cheek as one of your boots rest against his thigh, urging his legs apart.

The tennis skirt covered nothing at this point, and you could see the white rope of his harness nestled against his cunt, against a tuft of blue pubic hair. Good thing he wasn’t wearing underwear, he would have soaked right through them at this rate. Though that was something you liked, seeing how much you affect him, even subconsciously. But his thighs were sticky and shiny with enough pre-cum that it was threatening to drip down and stain something you cared about.

Starting to re-think the whole scolding thing.

“Mmm, he’s soooo smart.” He mumbled, smiling to himself. If he wasn’t talking, you would have assumed he’d gone to sleep. He barely notices you nudging the tip of your boot against his stomach, trailing down his crotch.

“What does he say, dolly?” You asked, keeping your voice low as you stroked his hair, pressing the sole of your boot down against his cunt, finally making him react, though all he did was rock his hips up, grip at your trouser leg more, bite his lip.

“Says…” Through soft gasps, little giggles, eager little whimpers. “I’m such a pretty dolly, he doesn’t even care if I ‘aven’t got a brain. He likes me ‘nyways.” His little anecdote was cut short though, when he tips his head back, whining out loud as you grind your heel against the rope, making it dig in even more.

“Good thing he likes ya so much, even when you’re such a naughty boy.” You said, grinning to yourself as you gripped at the front of his harness, pulling him onto his feet and into your lap before he can say anything.

“I-I’m not naughty.” He whimpered, as you pulled at the rope digging against his cunt tight, only making it dig in more. “I’m really good. Sir tells me I’m good allllll the time.” He cried out, but he only ruts against the deliciously painful friction against his clit, soaking the silky ropes with pre-cum, even more dripping down his thighs, against your jeans.

“Ohhh, but you are bad, dolly.” You growled, your other hand going up to grope at his chest roughly (though there isn’t much to grope.) “Look at you, making such a mess of yourself.” Stroking over his sticky thighs, over the rope, just teasing him now even though he barely knows what teasing is. “Bet you’ve stained all your pretty clothes now too. Sir’s not going to be happy at all. You ruining all his nice things.”

“I didn’t mean to!” He insisted, writhing in your lap as you stroked over his erect clit. “Really, it was an accide-AH!” You cut him off by biting down, hard, on his neck. Marking his porcelain skin. Cracking him.

When you sucked a bruise against his skin, he started to whimper, and you can hear more of him through his dolly facade. You always liked those moments the most, when nothing could hide his true self from you. You liked the smiles and the giggles, yes, you liked when he was so desperate to please. But you liked seeing him embarrassed, you liked making him squirm and getting under his skin, a lot more than you cared to admit. And trying to make your eager little sexdoll squirm was just more of challenge.

And you liked challenges.

“You’re such a naughty little doll, aren’t you, angel?” You crooned softly, lapping at his bruise affectionately, and he whined softly, somewhat relaxing in your arms from such a soft gesture, despite how much you counteracted it with your rough assault on his cunt and his chest. “S'alright though. Sir still loves you so much.” Kissing up his cheek.

“Sir loves me.” He repeats, and you could hear the smile on his voice.


	27. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Or mabe murdoc as the priest himself keeps a cage on but he's lusting after stu and like so obsessed with him and like ends up being sinful and like touching himself thru it

Everything was finally unloaded one night, after one of your short weekly sermons. 

Lighting the candles together, watching the way the wax dripped down, willing the drips to roll down quicker so you could feel it against your skin again gave you the impression that you were getting a bit restless for his attention.

A joint reading from the Holy Book under the glow of the moonlight with more tension than they’d had before, and you reciting a hymn for him, the way he always liked you to.

You liked the way he looked at you when you sang, like he’d never heard anyone sing his hymns before (though if you had to venture a guess, you’d assume no-one had), and you liked how he always got closer to you after hearing you sing. Kissing whatever skin wasn’t hidden by your robes, whispering sweet words into your ear. Telling you how much he adored you, adored your voice.

He said you sounded like an angel.

You could only assume that was a good thing.

He practically dragged you back to his (and technically your’s too) quarters after you cleaned the church together, blew out all the candles, painted sigils into each other’s skin lovingly with the molten wax to ward away demons in the night. Kissed you feverishly with every moment that he had, showering you with praise, with sweet talk, stroking at the wax on your palm, comforting the burn that was already blooming there.

You loved it when he was like this, dropping any kind of persona he had around you and exposing his true self to you. Or as close to his true self as you were going to get anyway.

He pushed you onto the bed as soon as the door was shut, straddled your hips and kissed you so hard, you felt your breath escape you. Teeth clashing and tongues intertwining as you matched the vicious kiss, running your hands down his hips and gripping onto whatever you were able to. Devouring the soft, barely there moans he let out against your lips, devouring any vague hint of submission that he gave you, knowing it wasn’t going to last for long.

“I took an oath.” He whispered against your lips, pulling away from the hard kiss and pushing his fingers through your hair as he rocked his hips down against yours. “I made a promise to our Lord. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I-I do.” You mumbled softly, moaning as he pressed your hips together more, feeling his hard dick against your own. Least you weren’t the only one who’d gotten excited a bit too quickly.

“And you understand that my oath, as a messenger of the Lord, is more sacred than blood, don’t you, boy?” He continued, kissing down your stubbly jaw, holding your body down with his own, reciting as if he wasn’t rutting against you.

“Yes, Father.” The words escaped you with a strangled moan when he reached a more sensitive part of your neck, biting and sucking possessive marks down your neck. No sense of submission from him anymore. “I do, Father.”

“So you understand just how hard you make it for me?” His voice was suddenly a harsh growl, putting emphasis on ‘hard’ when he changed your positions, groping your ass hard and pulling you closer to his body. “How your wanton, whore-ish body vexes me, makes me want to break my oath.” Biting down at your collar, digging his teeth in, making you cry out loud enough to echo throughout the empty church. Like he had a point to prove or something

He lapped over the throbbing bite slowly, almost apologetically, drinking in your pained whimpers as he ran his hands down your front, over your aching erection, already straining against your trousers. Pressing his nose into your hair as he gripped at you, relishing in your scent.

“You have no idea how much you affect me, boy.” He chuckled softly, quickly pulling your robes open and unbuttoning your shirt with ease, dragging them down your shoulders and effectively restraining your arms. Stroking down your chest. “How I think of your body, over my alter again. Dripping with red.” Over his cross, hanging from the chain that used to hold your rabbit foot. “How I long to touch you again. To defile you like I did before.” Lapping up your neck to tug at your earlobe, making you tremble even more in his arms. You weren’t sure when your breathing had started to shake so much, but the frantic gasps between whimpers were suddenly much more obvious than before. You wondered if he’d noticed too.

“Please…” You whispered, so quiet you weren’t sure if he could even hear you. “Please, Father, I need you.” Your body was already trembling and you were unsure how much longer he wanted you to last. “I want it, please, Father, I want you.”

“My sweet jezebel.” He crooned, the roughness to his voice shaking something deep inside of you, as your hips bucked with each of his touches. “We mustn’t give into the sins of the flesh so easily, now. You’ll understand soon, I assure you.”

Though he kept touching you, baiting you, holding everything you wanted in front of your face and snatching it away each time you grabbed for it.

“Y-You don’t have t'fuck me then.” You whined, hands eventually back on his hips, tugging at the belt on his trousers. “Just…let me do something, please.” Looking at him with wide eyes, parted lips, every way he liked you. “Let me serve you, Father.”

He said nothing, naturally taken aback by how willing you were, just bit at his lip as you shifted the position, getting off of the bed to kneel at his feet like you were praying to his alter. Urging his legs apart so you could press your face against the bulge in his trousers, enveloping yourself in his warmth, his scent.

He stroked through your hair as you unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his trousers and dragged them down his thighs.

Though you were met with what looked like another belt around his hips and a set of them around his thighs, all shut tight with a silver padlock. The belts held a thick leather pouch over his crotch, greatly restricting any attention you could have paid to his dick, and probably restricting any he could pay to it himself. The padlocks shook gently as he trembled with anticipation underneath you, though you could only look at him and wait for some sort of explanation.

“You…you have to understand.” He started, and in the low light of the candles, you could see the colour in his cheeks flush a little, and he already looked more uncomfortable with just you looking at him the way you did. “I…I still am weak willed. I couldn’t keep my oath without…something in the way.”

“So you had to stop yourself.” You finished for him as you stood up to your feet again, standing over him. “I see.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling at the way he was suddenly looking up at you, eyes widened, lips parted. The way you looked at him.

“I can still help you, if you would let me, Father.” You started, tugging down your trousers and boxers, before you moved closer to him, straddling his hip and sitting on his restricted crotch. Idly unbuttoning his shirt and collar as you rutted against him, pressing your own dick against the leather pouch, against his belly, smearing pre-cum against his skin.

You felt powerful when you saw him lick his lips, unable to stop watching you.

“I can still make you feel good.” Tugging his shirt down and kissing over his collar bone. “I could fuck you, if you wanted, Father.” Over the winding tattoos on his chest, thumbs teasing over his nipples. Grinning against his skin when you heard him gasp, felt him tremble under your touch. Even more when his hips bucked against your’s. “I know how to make it feel good.”

“I ought to punish you for your vile mouth, boy.” He growled softly, his hands going up to your shoulders and dragging lines down your back. Any confidence he might have lost to exposing his chastity to you had returned with full force, but you had already gotten cocky.

“You say that as if I wouldn’t like it.” You said with a laugh, still rutting your hips down against his. “I haven’t made an oath to our Lord. And I’m not gonna.”

“You’re no better than the peons outside this church.” His composure was still wavering though, and you could feel how hard he was through the leather.

But he still had something to prove, and you had no shame.

“I don’t see the reason in denying myself pleasure.” You smirked against his skin. “Nor do I think our Lord would want you to deny it either. And if your oath is stronger than blood than…” Sitting up, making full eye contact with him. “You may make me bleed. If that’ll break it.”

“Do you will that as your penance, boy?” He asked, with a raised eyebrow. You just gave him a quirked smile.

“I’ll will anything you want to give me, Father.”

“So be it.”


	28. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Dom 2d. I would like to see what u can do, make it nice and short if u like but I'm craving 2doc without a weak, helpless 2d 

It was dark, the only light coming from the illuminated street lights outside, the occasional panning beam of white coming from a passing car on an early morning errand. 

Moments like this were rare, and were meant to be savoured. When it felt like you were the only two people in the world.

The room smelled of sweat and sex, filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, his gasps, whines and the moments where he would just whisper your name, as if you couldn’t hear it. Like a prayer, too thick on his tongue to go unnoticed. 

Murdoc’s on his hands and knees on your bed, you’re pressing his face down against the mattress, fingers tangled up in his hair. Your other hand held his wrists together behind his back, kept his body arched against yours, keeping him still so he was easy to overpower.

Even easier when he let you.

You’re pounding inside of him rhythmically, but you keep your pace slow enough for him to get used to, but also slow enough for him to whine about how lacking all of this was. How he couldn’t get close enough to climax without you pulling it away from him every time.

He cursed you out at the beginning, swore at you and pulled against your hard grip. Said you weren’t doing it right, and you may as well just stop because of how shit you were at getting him off. But you persisted, kept up a good front, didn’t let any of your protective walls fall down, kept your pace slow even though you hated it yourself.

It was worth it when he started to whimper and tremble. When he started to beg for it, like he made you so often do.

“Please, please, please.” He gasped out with each thrust, whining when you accidentally tugged at his hair a little too hard. Didn’t need to apologise when he was in this deep though. He wanted the pain. “Need t'cum, Stu, can’t fuckin’ hold on like this much longer.”

“You can cum.” You said, without any sort of softness to your voice. Tone as harsh as your actions, your persistence. “Never said you couldn’t.”

“Can ya go faster or something?” The desperation to his voice was becoming more obvious with each thrust, strangled with whines and whimpers. “I’m goin’ fuckin’ mad here, mate. Need something more.”

“You can take what I’m giving you, or nothin’ at all.” You teased, and the shit eating smirk playing on your lips was practically audible on your voice. You couldn’t imagine how he must have felt right now. “Not forcin’ ya t'stay here.” Pushing your points with slightly harder thrusts, pressing in deeper, so he knew what he was missing out on. “I don’t give a shit if you leave.” So he knew what he could have and what you wouldn’t give him. “Don’t give a shit if ya stay either though.” So the anticipation would kill him. 

“Fuck you.” He whined, without any sort of meaning to it.

Not like you would have cared if it did.


	29. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: can u do some studoc dollification stuff with murdoc being the one hypnotised please? i lov ur writing also i read to binge and i wanted to cry ur an amazing writer and i love the emotion you put into every scene <3

Murdoc whimpered when he was barely inches away from going under your manmade trance, trembling underneath your touch, despite how gentle you were being with him. Even subconsciously, when his mind was miles away from the rest of his body, he was terrified to let his guard down, terrified to be vulnerable with you, even after the years you had spent together.

But that could easily be fixed.

That was your job now.

You just shushed him softly, stroking through his hair as you kept humming, making all the little noises he liked that usually calmed him down after panic attacks, episodes, when something particularly unpleasant had triggered him. Kept your voice soft and slow. You’d gotten the hang of calming him down over the years, so you were within your right to use them for your own benefit every now and again.

Maybe a bit more, as of late though. When he was so easily upset.

“The deeper you go, the deeper you are able to go.” You drew out your voice as you continued, making each vowel long and drawling, as slow as you could. “And the deeper you go, the deeper you want to go.” He stopped trembling when you touched him, his head resting heavy in your lap, finally at some kind of peace. “And the more enjoyable the experience becomes.” You added with a private smile at yourself, still stroking his hair.

You couldn’t see his face, so you were unsure if he was even still awake. You start singing for him again, a song he liked, something you knew he’d react to. He made his conscious status known to you when he let out a happy sigh, keening up against your touches. You could tell his mind was slipping by how comfortable he suddenly is with all of this, with being submissive in your lap, in your arms.

“Feel yourself sink deeper.” You murmured, dipping your head just enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath on his skin. Made him shiver, despite there being no cold. Like the last lingering piece of his mind personifying itself for you. “Feel yourself getting calmer and calmer.” Your touch quickly receded as you spoke more, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Now listen to me.”

And with that, he was almost limp in your lap, the hands so feverishly gripping into your bed sheets, your trousers suddenly almost limp at his side. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut by a neglectful master.

Maybe that’s what he had been at one point. The reason why he was so empty like this now.

But you could build him up to be whatever you wanted to be, mold him into the kind of man you might have deserved at one point, but not anymore. And he wouldn’t prevent any of it either, his own stubborn nature granting you full access to the husk that was his head now.

He could be your very own project.

A toy for you to play with as you wanted.

A doll, perhaps. 


	30. 2DOC (eh)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this when i really wanted to snoke some weed lol

He flicked through the channels on the telly as you occupied yourself by sifting through your rolling tin and finding any scraps of the gram you had bought before you caught the train up to Essex. Started to roll a joint for the two of you to share as the television blared through late night chat shows, music videos and reruns of cartoons on the channels that Murdoc paid extra for.

“Wait, stop for a sec!” You said, when you finally looked up at the screen, and caught the promising flash of slow shambling figures on a dark background and a millisecond of groans and screams.

He stopped swapping the channels and stopped on what must have been the middle of a low budget zombie movie. Put all the budget into makeup and decent special effects, which is why the bloodbath massacre on the screen looked decent for an early nineties B-lister. You finished up rolling your joint, smiling happily to yourself with your eyes glued to the screen in morbid fascination.

“Fuckin’ hell, you really are obsessed with this stuff.” He asked over a can of cheap beer with a raised eyebrow. “Ain’t it a bit morbid for ya, mate?”

“I’m not obsessed!” You insisted, licking along the glued edge of the rizla and rolling the joint tight. “It’s just…a special interest, I suppose. Plus they’re fun, you know. Silly, stupid.” Passed him the joint with a flourish of your wrist. “Don’t have to pay attention to them to enjoy them.”

“Yeah, well, makes sense you like somethin’ like that.” He mumbled to himself, setting down his beer and taking the joint. “Always seemed a bit dreary to me. Y'always know how it’s going to end and it’s always bloody miserable.” Slotting it between his lips, fumbling in his jacket for his lighter and popping the top off with a click. “When has a zombie film ever had a good ending?”

“Er. I dunno.” You wondered, biting at your thumb nail, watching him light the joint and take the first drag. “What counts as a good ending?”

“I mean a happy ending. At least two survivors.” He said, breathing out a thick stream of smoke. “There’s at least a feeling of hope for the rest of the world. Maybe a nice hetrosexual romance to make things even nicer.”

You racked your brain for possible options in your extensive supply of films, but he seemed to have you beat in terms of happy endings in your favourite genre of horror. Frowned to yourself as he passed you the joint with a satisfied smile.

“Exactly.” He said, picking up his can again.

“Alright then. What’s your favourite horror genre, and I’ll call that out.” Taking back a long drag from the joint, relishing in the minor head rush that it gave you, holding back the tickles in your throat.

“Well, that’s easy.” He grinned, tipping the can in your direction. “Slashers. By far the best horror genre, in terms of actual satisfaction from a story. Best characters, best romances, all the best gore fests come from slasher films, my friend.” Took the joint from you, taking it back like a professional. “Plus, incredibly feminist, if you care about that shit.”

“Mate, you don’t watch horror for the characters.” You said with a grimace, watching as he took another drag. “That’s why you don’t give a shit when they get murdered. It’s about the monsters, the characters are just there to get killed, that’s why they’re written.”

“Isn’t horror about eliciting a reaction though?” He asked, a raised eyebrow glancing back at you. “You care about the characters, you don’t want them to die even though you know they will.”

“Nah. Most of the time they deserve to die.” You said, almost laughing at the face he gave you when he passed you the joint. “They’re bitchy teenage girls, assholes who threaten the nerds who end up dead cus they’re rapey, shit like that.” Taking a long drag from the joint, quickly feeling the rush of the ten pound strain you bought from your fourteen year old neighbour in your brain. “Dunno about you, but I’d want those characters to die too.”

“Fucking hell, Dents.” He started, still drinking from his can, despite getting progressively more high as you both smoked the joint. “Bit dark for you, ennit?”

“Maybe, but ya can’t say I’m wrong.” Passing him the joint after a second drag that he raised his eyebrows at.

“No but I can say that your therapist isn’t doing that good a job.”

“It’s physical therapy.”

“Yeah, well, last thing we need is a psychopath who can outrun ya.”

For some reason, he caught you off guard and you started giggling to yourself, at the absurdity of his statement and just because you were high on good, cheap weed, watching a shit film and feeling the best you had felt in a while. And you giggling made him smile and start laughing as well. And suddenly you’re laughing together.

And it feels right.


	31. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Oml... if you're taking requests for more on dollified Murdoc.. Could it be like, a bit of nice humiliation (any kind), but Murdoc's like completely oblivious to it and does whatever Stu wants, and kinda likes it anyway? ~PleaseAndThankYou~

You’re still trying to rationalise it to yourself, even when you’re gripping his hair, biting your lip hard enough to break skin and gripping your dick, wanking off to the vacant, far off look on his face. 

You hadn’t even thought to give him any kind of instructions yet, no demands or anything. Just having him on his knees at your feet, looking up at you like he was just waiting to serve you and only you, was enough to get your dick hard and enough to convince you to take a break from his therapy to indulge yourself in something a little controversial. Something that might have gotten a few weird looks if you brought it up with your therapist.

Murdoc’s long, trailing tongue hung slack from his lips, and his naked body was still as you pulled and tugged at his hair, gripping onto his body close, barely a reaction coming from him. No shaking or trembling when you touched him either, typically what would be seen as a good thing, but when he was essentially a husk, a mindless toy for you to play with as you pleased, his reactions probably weren’t worth thinking about, no good nor bad signs to tell. 

You mumbled praise and encouragement for him, mostly to yourself though, knowing that he couldn’t hear you, couldn’t acknowledge anything you said to him. 

For some reason that doesn’t change anything. 

Doesn’t change how much your dick is aching for him. 

You thought about all the times he’s put you under like this, momentarily wondering what he did to you when you had no idea about any of it. Did he ever do things like this? Get so lost in his own head, in your image in front of him, that he’d forget to even give you any instructions, any weirder fantasies to play out for him, and just wank at the sight of you? 

You weren’t sure. 

Probably not though, he might have been crude but he at least had some tact to him. He liked knowing you were a person, liked your reactions you’d give him as a person and getting under your skin, making you squirm.

He liked that you were human.

Not like you.

You preferred to see yourself as a sex toy, an object to be used, liked it when partners did the same thing for you. No wonder you had such a kink for clothes that covered any available human skin, anything that misshaped your body and made you look as far from an actual person as you could.

You didn’t know what that meant.

Didn’t want to consider what it might have meant.

You were so caught inside your own head that you barely acknowledged how as you hit climax, you came on his face, on his waiting tongue, and he didn’t even react. You’re nervous, all of a sudden, as if he’d wake up from his trance and deck you for being such a sick bastard and taking advantage of him.

But he didn’t wake up. Still looked at you with empty eyes, and a barely there smile on his face. Like you’d done something right instead of something horribly, worryingly wrong.

You took a tissue from the bedside and quickly cleaned him up before you even try and do anything else.

You still need to decide what it is you want to do.


	32. 2DOC (MORE 2D STUDY)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: This isn't smut but... Murdoc meeting 2D's parents? And them having an awkward 'introducing my parents to my family' dinner?

Stuart had to hand it to them, after years of living away and deliberate solitude on his part, Rachel and David Pot seemed to be nothing but the perfect dinner hosts. Plenty of smiling, hand shaking, awkward side hugging. The lot.

It was customary to wear white at a Shabbat dinner, but neither of them owned enough white to make that sort of an effort. Murdoc opted for all black, while Stuart wore his nicest pair of jeans and a good shirt that he bought for a pound at a charity shop. Much too big for him, but his parents didn’t indicate that it bothered them at all.

They’d also accepted the bottle of obviously cheap red wine bought from an all-night corner shop with eager smiles, commenting on they were proud that Stuart remembered what was customary for the dinner, after being a non-observer for so long. He didn’t think to correct them that he hadn’t, in fact, abandoned his religion and joined a homosexual, satanist cult, as they so often liked to think he had.

He wasn’t sure if Murdoc could see the obvious strains in their speech whenever they danced around calling him his “boyfriend”. He was usually so good at that sort of stuff, Stuart just hoped that he wouldn’t be convinced that his parents were necessarily good people, just because they were suddenly able to act like it.

David somehow roped Murdoc into talking about his music, something he was always available to talk about and always eager to talk about. A form of distraction while Rachel hurried Stuart into the kitchen, no doubt for some sort of private, passive aggressive talk that he was so used to after years of Passovers, Purims and Hannukahs filling the house with people she didn’t care for.

“So.” She started, turning to her kitchen counter, pretending that she was preparing something, like she hadn’t bought everything for the dinner from the deli in town. “He seems nice.”

“Yeah.” He said, leaning against the fridge, fiddling with a loose string on his shirt. “He is nice.”

“And what was it you said he did again, sweetie?” She started to plate up the numerous salads and meats from the plastic packaging. “A…band, or something, right?”

“Yes, Mum, he’s in a band.” He mumbled, just hearing the disapproval in her voice. She just nodded as she scraped tapenade and baba ganoush into Nana’s good china.

“You know, Stuart, if you’re really gay now, I know a lovely boy in my department-”

“Mum, he’s literally in the other room.” He scowled over at her, though she kept busying herself with food preparation.

“I know, I know.” She insisted, dropping another plastic pot into the bin at her side. “But you’re nearly twenty five now, Stuart. You can’t just spend your life with men in bands and bad jobs, you know. You have to make a start somewhere.”

“Like I’d date a doctor anyway.” He mumbled to himself as he wandered over to nick a slice of the deli challah bread. Still as good as he remembered. Shame he couldn’t find a decent deli in Essex.

“Well, all the girls at synagogue like him very much. You’d be lucky to end up with someone like that.”

“Well, I like my boyfriend in the living room just fine.” He said through a mouthful of challah, though he didn’t get scolded for it like he typically did. Possibly because his mum was suddenly ignoring him, making herself look busy with the rest of the salads. Stuart would have felt guilty that he wasn’t helping her, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as much as he should have.

Instead, he crossed the kitchen and looks for a wine glass for himself, so he could pop open the cheap wine that he’d bought and see if it actually tasted any good.

“You know, our rabbi was asking about you the other day.” She said over her shoulder, suddenly choosing to change the subject. Took a pair of oven gloves from the radiator at the side. “She said she missed seeing your face during her services.” Opened up the oven to take out a smoking pan that seemed to hold a decently cooked salmon. Possibly already cooked in store and she was just reheating it.

“What did you tell her then?” He asked, popping the cork of the wine bottle and pouring himself a glass. “I ran away with an older man and suddenly my foreskin grew back?”

“Don’t be so crass, Stuart.” She replied with a huff, setting down her pan. “Since you could drive down here tonight, don’t suppose you could join us at synagogue tomorrow, could you?” Pulling off her gloves.

“Murdoc and I have plans.” He said quickly, drinking from the wine glass and trying not to grimace at how bad corner shop red wine actually tasted.

“Of course you do.” She mumbled, setting her gloves down in an almost clenched fist. “You know, when you were dating that Paula girl, you had plenty of time for synagogue services.”

“Mum, you hated Paula.” Stuart’s voice rose in pitch slightly, slightly bewildered by what his mum had said. “You said constantly that you hated her. You called her a tart to her face at my Purim party.”

“I’m just saying.” She said, firmly, stepping closer towards him. “You were more observant of your faith when you were with her.”

“Yeah, cus I still lived here!” His voice was nearly a shout as he moved backwards away from her. “You can’t expect me to practice as much as I used to when I live somewhere without a synagogue.”

“Well, if you didn’t live with him-”

“I want to live with him, he’s my boyfriend.”

“Oy vey, Stuart, don’t say something so childish.” She said with a huff, before she moved away from him again, back over to her counter to keep pretending to cook. “Say something like "partner”, something with a little class, eh?“

Stuart was quiet for a while after that, considering what she had said, just watching as Rachel cut into the salmon and served it onto four plates.

"You know I don’t eat meat, Mum.” He piped up suddenly, still drinking the god-awful red wine.

“Meat on shabbat is a mitzvah, sweetie, I’m sure you can make an exception for once.”

He didn’t try to figure out what that might have meant, but he didn’t try to argue about it anymore. Figured he’d pick around the salmon, eat the salad he’d been given and fill up on excessive amounts of kugel (actually homemade) that no-one else was going to eat anyway.

“You more upset that he’s a man, or that he’s a gentile then?” He said softly, breaking the somewhat awkward silence between the two of them. Rachel let out a long sigh, setting down her serving spoon and turning on her heel to meet his accusatory gaze.

“I’m not going to pretend that I agree one hundred percent with him, boychik.” Her sudden use of thick yiddish threw him off, somewhat, since he heard it so rarely these days. “But if he makes you happy? Feh. Goy or not, he makes me son happy. Can’t argue with that.” ” She shrugged her shoulders and turned back to her plates. “He seems to be getting along with your father anyway. Always a good sign.“

Stuart let out a little laugh despite how mad he was before, suddenly feeling a little more forgiving despite everything she had said and approached the kitchen counter again.

"Yeah, Paula never got on with him.”

“Very true. Remember the spiel he put on at your cousins bat-mitzvah?”

“That the one where I tripped into her display?”

“You always were such a klutz.”

“Thanks, Mum.

“Get the potatoes out the oven.”

Pause.

“You know, Murdoc actually is a licensed doctor.” 

“Oh, really now?”


	33. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Could you write a little something about murdoc's "ideal Sunday"

The first thing Murdoc hears is the soft sound of Lou Reed on the speakers in the living room.

As soon as his eyes were open, he regretted it. The sun was casting lines of blinding light through the blinds over his window. Someone must have forgotten to close them before they passed out last night. He groaned and pulled the duvet over his head, blocking out any of the light and giving his aching eyes a bit of relief. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but the fact that the sun was out meant that it was still far too early for him to be awake.

His head was pounding though, enough that it was a dull aching pain that wasn’t easily ignored, which meant he’d have to get out of the depressive little hole that he’d dug for himself and find some sort of remedy to his hangover.

-

“Hey, you’re awake before noon this week!”

Stuart was as chipper as ever, hangovers clearly not effecting him. Much like the early days, though, of course, he was much older now. He’s wearing a pair of pyjama trousers and a skimpy little vest top, does nothing to hide the curve of his ass when he bends over the kitchen counter. or the way his hips ever so slightly bulge over the waistband of the pyjamas.

Mudoc might have been a bit more lecherous, a bit more touchy feely, but it’s still early and his hangover is beginning to become unbearable, so he just grunted a response and lay on the sofa, pulling the cushion over his face so he didn’t have to see the sun streaming into the flat, or hear the music on the speaker and the music coming from Stuart as he sang along with good old Lou on the radio.

“I made breakfast, if you can stomach it.” Stuart said, looking back at him over his shoulder. “Just eggs, mind, but it might help settle your stomach.”

“Thought you were a vegan now.” Murdoc mumbled into the cushion.

“Didn’t make ‘em for me, did I?” He replied, in a bright, airy tone. “We didn’t have anything for an omelette or nothin’, so I just made scrambled eggs. Thought they’d kinda taste the same anyway.”

“Don’t like scrambled eggs.” Murdoc pulled the cushion off of his face to glare up at the ceiling, before he sat up, looking over at Stuart working at the stove, trying to ignore how good the food actually smelled. “And why aren’t you wearin’ that apron I got you?”

“Er…couldn’t find it.” Stuart said, albeit a little hesitantly as he kept poking at the eggs with his spatula. “I got toast, if you want that instead?”

“Don’t feel like eating.” He muttered as a response, crossing his arms and leaning against the back of the sofa. Just relishing in the soft little hums Stuart let out as a new song popped up on the radio. “Any chance I could have a Bloody Mary instead, love? Ya know that always helps my hangovers.”

“Well, I dunno…” Stuart said quietly, turning the heat off his pan if no-one was going to be eating the eggs anyway. “I don’t think you should drink again, after all of…that last night.”

“Come on, 'Dents, you know how good I am after a little drink in the morning.” Murdoc insisted with an insincere smile, quickly standing up from the sofa and joining Stuart in the kitchen. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“What’s that supposed to mean then?” Stuart asked with a raised eyebrow.“

"We’ll have a nice easy Sunday, yeah? Anythin’ your pretty heart desires, we can do.” Leaning in close to him, hands resting on his hips, ever so gently pinning him against the kitchen counter. “Maybe have a joint or two, listen to the radio together.”

“We could go to the park…” He suggested through the kisses against his neck, the little delighted whines he let out in response to the attention. “Go for a walk or s-somethin’.”

“Aw, does puppy want walkies?” Murdoc said with a rough chuckle, smirking against Stuart’s neck when his face flushed red, pressing his knee up between his trembling thighs. “We can get your collar out again, clip a leash on it. Maybe I’ll buy you a tennis ball or somethin, and we could play like we used to.” 

He was still laughing when Stuart shoved him away, covering his face with his hands.

“God, you’re fucking vile sometimes.” He groaned, though for some reason, he didn’t seem to mind any of it. Least that’s what Murdoc thought. And he was fairly decent at reading people, at least at reading Stuart.

“You love it though.”


	34. MURDOC + OC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: D'ya think you could ever write about Mikey, like, er, fuckin Murdoc or sumethin? Coz he seems like a fantastic OC tbh

You both tumbled into his middle story flat in a giggling tangled mess of leather, chain and sharpened studs. It was too late to try and get a tube back to your place, so he has so generously offered you a sofa to sleep on after spending much to long at a gay bar, then at a bar fight, then at a riot that the police had to break up.

Freeing and thrilling in a weird sort of way that you didn’t mind, even when you were nearly glassed by a drunk drag queen in leopard print.

Being with him, being with his friends, your sort of crowd of people, he had insisted, it made you feel whole again, after so long feeling like there was something missing.

Mikey filled any sort of gaps in your life, in your mind, quite nicely.

And you liked it when he ignored the fake, put on boundaries that you’d given him.

You liked that his arms seemed to fit perfectly affectionately clinging around your waist, holding you close. You liked how he always looked at your lips when you talked, and you could only imagine what he wanted to do with them. You liked when he held your shoulder, introduced you to people as his “new boy.” Made your stomach do flips that you adored.

The tips of his neatly spiked mohawk nearly reached the top of the door frame. You can see new tears in his jeans from the fight in the bar, same as you can see how sweaty his shirt was now. There was a chip in his front teeth when he grinned, and the peak of his golden molar in the back of his mouth when you made him laugh.

But you were just smiling at being so close to notice those things about him.

“I have to say, that’s the most fun I’ve had running away from the police before.” You said brightly as soon as the door was shut, managing to peel yourself away from his body for a second, and taking off your leather jacket to cool yourself down a little. Leather always made you overheat. Your curly mop of hair was tangled and mussed from the fight, and the sweat on your forehead from running made it stick against your face. Not a flattering look by any stretch of the imagination, but Mikey still looked at you like he was looking at something beautiful.

Made you feel oddly powerful. You always liked that feeling

“Stick with me, kid, and fun times are sure to follow.” He said with a exaggerated swagger, his grin melting down into a smirk. You melt when he called you ‘kid’. You’re not too sure why but you don’t question it.

“Honestly, if it’s anything like tonight, I’m more than happy to stick around.” You replied, grinning back at him and pacing back over to him.

“Oh yeah?” He asked, hands delicately resting against your chest as he moved in closer to you. “Still sticking with me here?”

“Maybe.” You said, softly, and he’s pushing you up against his front door, his hands now down at your hips, foreheads almost touching and he’s looking at your lips again.

You didn’t know what to focus on, eyes scanning down his face, at his piercings, at the smeared Adam Ant style line across his cheeks and nose. Deciding to rest on his eyes, his perfectly groomed eyebrows arched up in slight interest. You rested your own hands against his chest, against his sweat sodden t-shirt, and you want to grip on it and make it clear how much you want him.

“Perhaps.” He said finally, eyes glancing up at your own, making eye contact, making your heart beat faster underneath your chest. “Something off our usual menu. A bit more traditional, if you will.”

“My, my, Mikey T.” You mumbled, and you can feel the flush on your cheeks gathering quickly. He could see it too, because he started smiling again. “You just want free labour off of me, don’t you?”

“I paid for your drinks all night, you little tart.” He growled, and his hand goes up to grip your chin, thumb resting against your bottom lip, keeping your mouth open. It took everything out of you not to whimper at his sudden aggression, not to melt against his touch and just do whatever he wanted without another question. Your dick was already aching against the too-tight denim, but fuck if you cared. “I think that’s payment enough.”

“Sure you don’t have a fetish for defiling nineteen year old students on their first night out?”

He just laughed, pressed his thumb against your tongue as he ground his hips down against yours, making you moan against the sudden intrusion in your mouth. Brings his face close to yours, so close you can almost see your reflection in the ring through his nose.

“You’re acting like there’s anything left to defile, slut.” His tone was low and dangerous, and made you moan even more. He loved every second of it, just watching you fall apart in his arms, fall apart so easily.

He had you in the palm of his hand and you loved every second of it.

“I’m gonna go for a slash, and you’re gonna go to my bedroom, alright, sweetheart?” He whispered, and you nodded, shivering as he moved his mouth close to your ear and lapped over the studs, the silver hoops. “And if you’re not arse-naked by the time I get there, I’ll tear your clothes off myself.”

You just nodded again, almost dumbly, and you could feel a smirk against your skin. But he pulled himself away from you, gave you an affectionate tap on the cheek before he wandered off to the loo, either to have a bit of wank or to genuinely have a piss.

But you hurried to his bedroom anyway, ignored the mess of plates, ashtrays and dirty clothes on the floor, considered for a good ten seconds whether or not to actually take your clothes off (since him tearing them off was very tempting) but opted for stripping because you actually liked these clothes and didn’t want to risk any damage to them.

You were achingly hard, and when you pulled the foreskin back, the head was sticky and your slit was already oozing with pre-cum. He’d already gotten you so hard without even the tiniest amount of effort. Maybe it was shameful, but you relished in being attracted to someone again, after such a long time of pretending, that they could do that to you.

You liked it more than you would care to admit.

You get onto your hands and knees, ass out, face pressed into the pillow like you’d always been instructed to do. That way they could never see if it hurt, could never hear you if you cried out too loudly or wanted to cuss them out for not using protection, not enough lube.

You could only assume that’s what Mikey wanted as well.

You knew he was there when you felt him touch you, an affectionate slap on the ass just to make sure you were paying attention. You just keened your hips back, like you wanted more of it, but he just stroked down your thighs slowly, running a fingertip down your weeping dick.

“Well, that’s very cute, Mudz.” He said, a slight teasing edge to his face as he kept touching your dick, like he was baiting you, making you wait for it despite how hard you already were. “All that for little old me? I’m touched, honestly.”

“Mikey, please.” You whimpered, moving your head so he could hear you clearly, gripping at the pillow and wagging your ass like they liked you to. “Want you already, want you so bad.”

“How long you wanted me for?” He asked, and he called you what you assumed was a pet name in another language. German, if you heard correctly. You couldn’t speak German but you liked hearing it anyway. You let out a whine as he ran a finger up your taint, over your ass though all he did was touch. “Tell me it was when I fucked your pretty little throat at Mode, love. When you swallowed my spunk and I paid you for it, like the whore you are.”

“Prefer the term 'sex worker’ actually.” You teased, though regretted it when he slapped your ass again,  because it did nothing to lessen your hard-on and would just be sore in the morning.

“You’ve wanted it that long, haven’t you?” He asked again, and he’s running his thumb over your ass now, so, so close to giving you what you wanted but still so far away.

“Yes.” You whimpered, and he let out a pleased little sigh. Maybe he’s touching himself. You didn’t look back to check. “Thought about it every night since I’ve met you.” Keening your hips back despite his harsh grip on you. “Fuck, Mikey, I wanked just thinking about it. Please, want it, want you so much.”

“That’s a good boy.” He cooed softly, and though his touch recedes from you, the cold feeling of the lube being spread over your hole made you whine with relief, knowing you were going to get something out of all of this. “You clean?” He asked, with the same pet name again. “Or are you just as dirty as I say you are?”

“I’m clean!” You gasped out, as he pressed a finger, two fingers inside of you with ease. “I’m clean, I promise.” You’re not lying either. You went through extensive check ups as soon as you found out your uni offered free STI tests. You wanted to be thorough, at the very least.

“Good.” He said, and the fingers inside of you go as quickly as they came. “You’ll have something to remember me by then. Or the next person you fuck can have my spunk on their dick to lube up, whichever comes first.”

And when he finally pushed inside of you, it’s fucking perfect, and you howled so loud, you were sure it woke up your flatmates on the other side of the city.


	35. MURDOC + OC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Could you do a lil drabble with like..Mikey watching one of/multiple of his friends go down on murdoc

He wasn’t sure who the other guy was, though Murdoc knew that Mikey probably wanted it that way. Wanted to keep him in the dark as much as possible, keep him guessing, though probably not for any sort of malicious reason, mind, no, he just didn’t want him to form an attachment to anyone else other than him.

Naturally.

He watched from the foot of the bed, like he always did. As casual as ever though. Just smoked a cigarette, and the glowing ember was the only thing that reminded Murdoc he was even still there. Orange reflected in his dark eyes as he watched intently, shrouded with smoke every time he exhaled. He didn’t even give any sort of indication that he was getting off to any of it, though he knew that he was. 

Mikey was just exceptionally good at hiding it. As well as hiding other things.

The other guy was decent looking though, maybe around Mikey’s age but Murdoc didn’t recognise him from the older man’s friend group or the tattoo shop, so they must have not known each other that well. He didn’t seem all that fussed by what was going on either, maybe not the first time he’d done something like this. That or the bloke had an open mind and didn’t mind fucking someone else’s boyfriend for a bit of laugh. 

Murdoc wasn’t all that polite to either of them, but in his experience (of which he had much of), men tended to like that about him. Being headstrong, arguing back when he didn’t get his way, being a bit cheeky, some of them called it. Made it that much more satisfying when he was finally on his knees with a dick in his mouth, gripping at his own, trying not to get off, barely five minutes into the scene.

Made him pay for being such a mouthy little shit.

That’s what the stranger had him do first, of course. 

He used protection, even though it was just oral sex. Either out of consideration or because he suspected Murdoc of carrying something. Not like he cared. Though he didn’t care much for the taste of the rubber and cheap lube on his tongue, if anything that was enough to turn him off a little, stave him off his eventual climax. The stranger didn’t seem to care though, gripped at his curly hair, holding his head down so he could feel the tightness of his throat against him, muttering something along the lines of yeah, you like that, your mouth is so good, so tight. 

Murdoc just gradually wanked in time with his frantic thrusts, eyes occasionally flicking to where Mikey sat, where he watched him. 

He didn’t give anything away though. Not even a vague indication that he was enjoying any of this. 

Always so cryptic.

As soon as the stranger’s finally cum in the condom, Murdoc figured out that he’s already over this, barely even holding any interest anymore. Mikey can probably tell that he’s bored of it, a raised eyebrow barely visible in the low light of the flat as he watched the two men in a somewhat awkward post-sex daze.

“You still gonna fuck him?” He asked, finally stubbing out his cigarette, putting himself into even more darkness.

“Soon as I can get hard again, mate.” The stranger mumbled, and Mikey nodded, stood up from his seat and paced to the other side of the bed, looking down on Murdoc.

“Get on your knees.” He said, starting to unbuckle his belt and tuck down his jeans. “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” His tone was almost challenging as he watched the younger man get into the proper position, gripping at his aching dick through his boxers, watched Murdoc’s eyes go wider and his lips part in anticipation, watching him touch himself as he tugged the fabric down and exposed himself. “You know what you want.”

“Yeah.” Murdoc replied, licking the corner of his mouth slightly as he ignored how much his own dick was aching, being between the two older men and just waiting for who would make the first move. 

“Open your mouth for me then, sweetheart.” Mikey said, almost affectionately, as he ran a hand through Murdoc’s tangled hair, gently urging his head down. “Pretty rude to act so disinterested when someone’s payin’ you attention, hm?”

“I’m not-”

Though he couldn’t finish his argument before Mikey, naturally, pushed his head down on his dick, forcing himself down his throat before Murdoc even had the chance to prepare himself. Though the younger man was used to it at this point. They did things like this so often, he was almost surprised that Mikey hadn’t tried anything earlier. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t try to pull back. Just moaned against him eagerly.

“There we go.” Mikey sighed, stroking through his hair. “That’s a good boy.” Managed to tear his eyes away from Murdoc so eagerly taking his dick like a champ, his body so perfectly arched, wagging his ass cheekily for the stranger who could only stand back and watch.

“How about it then, mate? Up for a round two?”


	36. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Hey if you ever feel like it, d'ya think you could write some good ol torture porn with 2D getting tortured by Murdoc- Any kind really. That'd be lovely
> 
> i’m not into torture porn unless it’s self insert, but here’s some bloody porn cus my red flag is flying and i’m in a mood

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was it was still dark. Squinting over at the blinds in Murdoc’s van, no light seemed to be streaming in, bugging you while you still had a hangover, so you didn’t have a clue what time it might have been.

You tiredly patted around the floor until you found your charger cable, which, when you gave it a pull, brought over your phone. You clicked the home button, squinted at the green LED screen and saw the time.

3:38 am.

Basically the middle of the fucking night.

The second thing you noticed when you woke up was how damp your thighs were, and the source of the dampness absolutely wasn’t from sexual thrill, nor was it from whatever Murdoc had gotten up to last night, not that you could remember all that much of it.

Which gave you one last option, and it was the option that you always hated and dreaded every month it came. You cautiously poked around at the damp between your legs, just in case you might have been wrong, but when your fingertips came back up stained red, you knew your intuition was, in fact, correct and you’d sprung a menstrual leak in the middle of the night.

You let out a long sigh of annoyance at yourself, wiping your bloody fingers on your abandoned boxers behind the pillow and moved to stand up and go to sort yourself out in the van’s tiny bathroom.

As soon as he sensed some movement from you, though, Murdoc sleepily wrapped his arms around your waist and held you close to his body, tangling your legs together. Typically an affectionate gesture, yes, and something you wouldn’t have minded any other day, but you weren’t in the mood to amuse whatever his half-awake brain might have had in mind.

“Murdoc, let me up.” You mumbled, prying at his fingers though he held fast, pressing his face against your shoulder blades. Either he was pretending to be asleep or he wasn’t planning on answering you, because he said nothing. You struggled a little in his grip, and he made it clear that he was, in fact, awake when he kept clinging.

“Babe, come on, I’m not in the mood for this right now.” You said, almost like you were repeating yourself now, louder so he would hear it clearly and he couldn’t pretend he didn’t.

Though rather than letting go, one of his hands just trailed down over your stomach to stroke over your crotch, the tangled hair over your mons, dangerously close to your labia and the mess between your legs.

“I’ve gotta go to the loo, mate, cut it out.” You tried hard not to gasp or shudder when his other hand went up to stroke over your chest, touching slowly, knowing full well how sensitive you were, particularly around this time of the month.

“I don’t mind.” He said, finally, kissing down the back of your neck as he rocked his hips against your ass. Could feel how hard he was already. Must have woken up like that. “Seen you in much worse states than this before.”

“Murdoc, y'can’t…” You’re whimpering when he runs a finger over your engorged clit, over your labia, shuddering when he’s smiling against your skin from the mix of pre-cum and blood.

“I’m sure I can.” He continued, groping your chest now, making you cry out and whimper even more.

You couldn’t think or be bothered to argue when he presses his finger inside of you, so easily, adding a second finger almost instantly. You could feel more blood dripping down your thighs, onto the bed sheets, and you cringe from how shameless he was around this whole thing. Even more when he’s pressing his dick between your sticky thighs, thrusting between them as he fingered you, as he groped your chest, just adding even more mess down there.

You’re panting and whimpering already, and you only get worse when he added a third finger inside you. When he started teasing your nipples, tugging and pulling at them so much that it’s almost unbearable. The additional feeling of his dick between your thighs, barely stimulating your cunt, was making your head ache and it’s too early to feel so many things all at once.

He pulled away from you, just slightly, and he climaxed over your ass, making it drip down the back of your legs and make you feel even more conscious of yourself. Though he just pulled you back close to him, speeding up his fingers inside of you, determined to make you cum as well, so he could see you in such a state.

It didn’t take long for him to get what he wanted, and he didn’t seem to care about the mess you were making all over his bed sheets as a result of his greed.


	37. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Could you maybe..Do a drabble of like that with the cheerleader outfit? Maybe he was gonna wear that for the video but murdoc ruined it with cum or something and like thats the reason 2d changed

“I must say, the wardrobe department have outdone themselves with this one.”

“You asked for this specifically, didn’t ya?” Stuart gripped at the hem of his tennis skirt, trying to pull it down, give himself a sort of modesty. Glaring at you as you walked around him slowly, admiring him. You were taller, just slightly, from the spiked rugby boots one of the wardrobe girls gave you, and you were going to use that to your advantage in this case.

“Oh please, you wound me, you really do.” You drawled, draping an affectionate arm around his shoulder and pulling him close, playfully slapping away his hands as they kept pulling at his skirt. Though the thing really was short, especially when he was so tall. “I personally think ya look rather lovely.”

“Yeah, you would.” He replied with a grimace.

“You musn’t be lookin’ at yourself properly then.” You insisted, grabbing at his shoulders and spinning him on his heels to make him look in the full length mirror that the dressing room had provided. 

You looked at him, almost proudly, as he scanned up and down himself, from the alice band in his hair keeping his fringe out of his delicately made up face, down to the crop top and tennis skirt combo, and finally to the bottom, knee high tube socks and converses pulling the sporty, enthusiastic cheerleader look together. He was still frowning though, clearly not all the happy with what he saw, and that, in turn, made you frown as well. Whether he believed it or not, you didn’t like seeing your boy upset, oh no, you wanted to do everything you could to make him feel comfortable and happy. 

You slipped behind him again, and rested one of your hands on his hip, the other pressing between his legs, up his skirt, against his boxers. He barely had time to register what you were doing before his body went rigid against yours, and he’s gripping at his skirt for an entirely different reason.

“Murdoc!” He whispered harshly, looking away from the mirror and back at you. “Not now, someone could walk in on us!”

“Then you should keep quiet, shouldn’t you?” You said softly, resting your head on his shoulder, leaning against him so he’d have to brace himself against the mirror. “Go on, look at yourself, darlin’. You should. Really a sight for sore eyes.”

“Ain’t that supposed to be a bad thing…” He muttered, and you saw him bite his lip in the mirror as you slid your hand inside his boxers, feeling his erect clit against your fingers, feeling the already there dampness against his labia. Grinned at the shuddery little sigh he let out that fogged up the glass when you touched him.

“Well, I think it’s a good thing.” You crooned, kissing down the back of his neck, watching as his expressions change with each affectionate gesture. The little smile playing at his lips as you were so gentle with him.

He moaned softly as your other hand travelled up his body to stroke over his stomach, up his chest, fondling him and groping him through the loose crop top that worked wonders in making his chest look flat. As much as he hated the outfit, you knew he liked little touches like that. 

When you remembered.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty, Stu.” Lapping over the shell of his ear, nipping at the hoops in the cartilage. “Just look at ya. You’re like an angel, honestly.”

He hesitantly looked up at the mirror again, meeting his own eyes in the glass, hands clenching into fists as you kept touching him. His consistent panting breathes were fogging up the glass, making it difficult to see him properly, but he kept wiping it away, making sure to do as he’s told and watch himself get finger-fucked dressed as a cheerleader. You smirk privately to yourself, pressing your aching dick up against his ass.

“See what you do to me, darlin’.” Touching his clit again, making him whine out even louder. Someone must have heard by now, which could only explain the sudden silence. “Got that just lookin’ at ya. Such a pretty boy, aren’t you, baby blue?”

“I-I’m pretty.” He’s whimpering, and a shaky little grin comes to his face as you fucked him harder, trying to push a quick orgasm out of him before you had to film. “I’m a pretty boy.”

“Ohhh, yes, you are.” You whispered, and it took every ounce of self control you had to not whip his skirt off and fuck him for real, till he’s screaming, until you know every last person in the studio has heard the two of you. “So beautiful, Stu. So cute all dressed up for me.” Though you have don’t have the self control to not tuck your y-fronts down and jerk off as you touched him. 

“Murdoc, I’m gonna cum…” He’s gasping, whimpering. His body was wreaked with trembles though he doesn’t look away from the mirror, constantly watching himself. “L-Let me take ‘em off first.”

“Nah, want you to do it in 'em.” You growled, pressing your face against his shoulder, barely minutes away from climax yourself. “So you feel it all through the shoot. So you remember me, yeah?”

“Holy shit.”

“That’s what I thought.”

You were seconds apart from climax when you eventually did. You also somehow managed to get it all over the back of his skirt, in a way that couldn’t really be fixed by turning it inside out or changing the angle. Probably the one time you actually felt like an idiot for prioritising a quick hand job before a fucking video shoot.

Stuart was still gasping against the mirror, the glass was probably doing wonders in cooling down his hot skin. If you weren’t suddenly turned off, the image of him bent over, his skirt and boxers around his knees and clinging to a mirror would have gotten you hard instantly and you’d be up for round two within minutes. 

But not right now.

You yanked the skirt down around his ankles and he looked over his shoulder back at you, silently questioning what you were up to.

“You’re going to have t'change. Into the shit you brought, whatever. Can’t go out in this sort of state, can ya?”


	38. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Could u do another medical thing? Maybe with murdoc as a nurse giving stu some sort of drugs as "medicine" (consensually obvi) n just being rlly nasty with him

The drugs he had so feverishly given you before had taken much quicker than he had expected.

You only knew that when he’s hesitating as he forced your body bent over the medical bench, pinning your body down effortlessly as he slowly stroked over your weeping dick, like he’s taking it all in, savouring the moment. Hard much too quickly for it to be natural.

“Ain’t that lovely?” He crooned with a barely there chuckle, running a latex clad finger over the sensitive head, and you’re whimpering and huffing against the ball gag between your teeth as your hips jut at his sudden attention. It hurt, almost overbearingly so, and your body was wracked with constant trembles. “Those pills worked wonders on you, eh?”

You couldn’t respond, and you know he’s just teasing you by asking you questions.

Must have looked a sight. Briefs and jeans halfway down your legs, a spreader bard around your ankles kept you open for him. He went overboard with your arm bindings for some reason, covering you in thick black latex and silver buckles so you couldn’t move without it hurting.

You’re still moving though, so it still hurts.

You liked the ache of it.

“Fuck, you’re so hard.” You couldn’t feel his body against your’s, though his touch was still unrelenting. He’s on his knees, behind you, just stroking your dick, teasing you even more. Even though he wasn’t pinning you down anymore, you couldn’t stand up straight if you wanted to.

Not that you really wanted to though.

He suddenly gripped your dick harshly, working his wrist up and down, jerking you off in a quick pace. Just a touch from him was enough to get you excited, so it’s even better when he actually started to do it properly. Your whimpers quickly became moans as you pressed your face against the bench, trying to push your hips back and get some more stimulation.

He’s whispering soft dirty, filthy words as he touched you, stroking down the back of your thighs, and you melt against his touch, just whimpering with agreement at all the horribly wonderful things he was saying, all the names he was calling you, all the vile things he wanted to do to you when you were so easy like this.

You weren’t sure if the pills he gave you had some sort of drug in them that altered your response to such vicious dirty talk (though you doubted it), but you were hardly complaining when you were so achingly hard and all you wanted was him to do those things with you.

He stopped touching you, and his touch subsided. You’re whimpering, whining like a puppy, trying to look behind you despite how the position and how roughly the binds dug in when you did. Made sense why he didn’t bother with a blindfold.

He was back before long though, standing behind you and you heard the cap of a bottle being popped. You expected the cold drops of lube over your hole just from that noise, but your reaction stayed the same.

“Not used to it yet, slut?” He asked, setting the bottle down on the bench. “Not to worry, I’m sure it won’t take long before you are.” His tone turned brighter as he pressed a finger inside of you, the combination of the lube and latex making it much easier. “After I strap you down and leave you for everyone else to use, stretch open that pretty hole of your’s.” Chuckling to himself as he pressed in deeper, feeling around for your prostate as you just whined underneath him, tugged at your binds and tried to act like you weren’t as turned on by that idea as you actually were.

As soon as he’s taken his finger out of you, the head of his dick was pressed inside of you, without barely any time for you to adjust. He gripped at your hip as he pushed deeper, sharp nails tearing his latex gloves and digging into your skin. Giving himself a better anchor, some better leverage. The drugs have almost worked like the inhalants you used to take together, because it’s much easier than usual. You really need to ask him where he got them from, and if the source was safe.

Everything feels much too good to be true.

“You’re be the perfect specimen for all of us, Mr Pot.” He eventually managed to grunt out as he’s thrusting deeper, almost to the base so you could feel the rolled up material of his dress against your ass.

“I’m sure we could find some time to experiment on you a little. Find a use for you.”

You almost scared yourself just by thinking about what those experiments could have been. 


	39. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Okay could we maybe get some dollified murdoc? Him begging to be used and played with and his dick leaking in a chastity cage under his pretty dress?

Murdoc always had the tendency to be stubborn, even when he went under, even when he’d been given a persona so far away from himself, he had the traits of himself so ingrained in his brain that they came out even when he wasn’t himself. So much so that sometimes it put you on edge and you were nervous to take the next step, in case he snapped out of your weak trance and saw what you were up to.

Funny how you were still nervous, even though he always gave you the go ahead on everything. How he’d ask for it to be as weird and perverse as possible. He’d grin and smirk when your face flushed red, because he knew every last thing about you, knew every sick fantasy you had in your brain, things you could never tell anyone else. He made fun of them in the early days, made you even more anxious about your obscure fetishes, but lately, he’d been much more open about them, accepting even.

He wanted to see what you could do when you had nothing to hold you back.

Yet, for some reason, you were still hesitant.

You dressed him in black, so he still looked like himself. A pretty dress with a short skirt, a white collar and long sleeves that covered his tattoos. His cross still around his neck though, shining against his chest. He played with the hem of the skirt idly as you figured out what you wanted to do with him.

When you looked up at him from the end of the bed, and he stared with empty, blank eyes, waiting for you, waiting for his master to give him some sort of instruction to obey, you fiddled with your fingers. Tried to avoid any sort of eye contact as your mouth went dry.

Did this ever happen to him? Did he freeze up in the middle of a scene? You doubted it, he was much more professional about this sort of thing. He always knew exactly what to say.

Nothing like you.

“C-Can you lift your skirt for me?” You asked, finally, stumbling on your words. You thought about attaching a pet name to your command, but nothing really sounded right.

He smiled eagerly and did as he was told, carefully pulling up his skirt so it wouldn’t bunch or wrinkle. Considerate, kind of sweet in a weird way that he usually wasn’t.

The sight underneath his skirt wasn’t nearly as considerate or sweet though.

A heavy, almost medieval looking metal cage encased his dick harshly, prevented you from properly looking at him, prevented him from getting totally hard or getting any sort of relief. Something he would have complained about had he not been under, but in his trance, it barely bothered him. It was almost like he didn’t even know it was there, even though you knew how aching it must have been, how his slit must have been leaking by now.

It was something you had sort of taught him from the beginning of this, when your sessions were short and (supposedly) entirely for his benefit. You’d taught him a lot, and he was eager to learn anything and everything from you. 

He didn’t need to touch it, you told him, stroking through his hair, feeling him melt against your touch. You were there to take care of him, naturally, so you’d take care of everything, you said, even dirty things like that.

He’d told you that you didn’t have to do dirty things for him, even pouted a little, as if you were suffering so much for him. It made your stomach turn a little, when he acted innocent, but you just laughed, tried to brush off how weird you suddenly felt.

But you didn’t say anything else.

But by now he knew that you’d take care of everything for him, even when his dick ached under his skirts, against the chastity device.

“How d-does it feel?” You asked, moving closer at the foot of the bed, closer to him. “I-I mean, how do you feel? You can tell me if it feels bad. I’ll stop it.”

“Tight. Hurts a little.” He gripped at the skirt a little tighter, looking at you again. “Don’t want it to stop though. Like a nice pain.” Looking at you stare so intently, his head just slightly cocked. “And you said not to touch so. Won’t touch it.” He added the last part with an eager little smile that you couldn’t help but smile back at. Albeit a little shaky, a little unsure.

You didn’t think he minded though.

“That’s it…remembering everythin’ I taught you, eh?” You mumbled softly, reaching to stroke down his bare hips, round to cup his ass gently, urge him closer to you. “Good boy. So good for me, aren’t you?”

“Good for my master.” He replied, brightly.

You don’t want him in any other position than standing over you, looking down on you. Still retaining some level of power even though you’re putting it there on purpose. You’re not used to the idea of him being under you yet, you’re not used to thinking he could crumble at your touch, thinking you could make him do anything that you wanted after so long of it being the other way round.

You didn’t think you’d be able to take advantage of the power imbalance this quickly, despite Murdoc practically handing it over to you on a silver platter, your’s for the taking.

Explaining your thought process behind this whole situation would be a field day for your therapist if you were ever going to bring up the weird sex you had.

“Yeah, that’s right, you’re good.” You started, your voice suddenly having a bit more stability as you dug your grip into the meat of his ass, griping a little harsher, sitting up a little so you matched his height a bit more. “Tell me, what does my good boy want, hm? Maybe he wants something nice and big in his hole, ‘cus he’s been so good for his master. Does he want his master’s dick?”

Murdoc moaned loudly as you groped him, hips jutting despite the belt making his dick essentially useless in this play. He’s nodding, almost desperately, wraps one arm around your neck and keeps the other hand holding up his skirt, like you’d told him.

“Yes, yes please!” He whimpered eagerly.

“You want master to play with you, doll?” You added the pet name with a soft purr, and you could see a flush against his dark skin as he listened and understood you. “Can ya tell me how much y'want it then? See if you’re as smart as I think you are.”

You almost wanted to try this when he wasn’t under, just to see his reaction.

“Want it.” He whined, repeating you. “Wanna make master happy, wanna make him feel good.” Voice pitching up slightly in a gasp as you playfully slapped his thigh.

“Oh, you don’t wanna feel good, doll? Just want your master t'have it all?” You asked, pressing your face against the bare skin of his thigh as you listened to him speak. “Aren’t you sweet.”

“Anything you want. Just want you to feel good.” He replied, voice shaking as you kept touching him.

You could only imagine how much of a state he would be if you could actually play with his dick, stimulate him a little more and reduce him down to a mess in your arms.

Maybe something to consider after a few more sessions of good behaviour.


	40. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Cyborg-d and 2d tied up together in some sorta bondage while murdoc cums on their faces and they like keep their mouths open hoping he chooses them to stick his dick in

While it had taken a long time to get the sodding thing out of all your storage and actually figure out and hack into the seven year old programming again, the look Stuart gave you when you booted up his cyborg counterpart made it all entirely worth it.

“Jesus christ, Murdoc! You still have that thing?” He near shouted, tensing up visibly at the foot of your bed as his eyes whitened at the sight of the machine he knew oh so well. “Where the hell have you been hidin’ it?”

“Well, I did sort of flat pack him down when we were movin’ about. Repurposed some of the CPU in his head for Noodle, made his insides into a toastie maker, all the essential stuff.” You elaborated, watching with sick delight as his gaze shifted from you to the machine. “Found him in a suitcase in the loft when I was lookin’ for that toastie maker actually.” You added brightly. “I mean, took me a few days to get him workin’ properly again, but it should all be the same! Even better, he can grill a panini if y'ask him!”

The shocking white in his eyes subsided gradually as he listened to you, edging closer to where you and the cyborg stood, though he still looked worried and unsure. 

“So…it’s not a-”

“Oh, it’s still a fuck machine, yeah.” You said, interrupting him. “Actually updated his dictionary so he’d understand some of the modern lingo. Proper top of the range now.”

Clearly that didn’t reassure him, as he just glared at you.

“Why do you need a fuck machine, specifically one that. Ugh.” He looked away again, letting out an exasperated and irritated sigh, pushing a hand through his thinning hair. “I’m literally three doors away now. You don’t need that thing.”

“Mm, yeah. That’s true.” You thought, leaning against your machine, that took your weight with ease and stayed stood solidly. “But, I mean, call me superficial or whatever but you’re not in your best years, are ya, mate?”

“You what?” Glaring over at you again, much harder.

“Not to say I don’t enjoy your more mature look every now and again, no no, not at all.” Stepping closer to your bed as you spoke, gesturing with your hands. “But I’m not gonna turn down a twenty-two year old on his knees, waiting to be fucked now, am I? Especially when he’s such a good lay.”

His face was getting progressively more red as you spoke, though he was still frowning, getting more angry with you as you spoke.

“It’s only like that because you made it like that.” He mumbled with a pout. You could almost hear a bit of jealousy to his face that made you grin.

“Come on, love, don’t take it so personally. Knock off can’t compare to the original, especially in terms of conversation or actual talent. Although.” You mused, pressing a hand through his hair and urging his head back once you had a good chunk of it in your fist. “Same thing can be achieved with a gag in that pretty mouth, eh?”

“Ugh, fuck off.” He replied gruffly, shaking you hand out of his hair and quickly standing up before you could try anything else. “So, what, are you just gonna start fucking your sex doll instead now, that it?”

“Mm, maybe that’s what I first thought about.” You said, rolling your eyes at his completion lack of having a laugh these days, looking back at him as he approached the door. “Though I did think we could maybe do what we used to. Have a bit of fun together. Like the old days, ya know.”

He was silent for a second, though he didn’t step any closer to the door. Just kept himself locked in thought before he turned back to you, face flushed, looking at his feet.

“God, you’re exactly the same, aren’t you?” He muttered softly, before looking at you again. Even when you couldn’t see his pupils , you knew he was avoiding eye contact. “After everything, you never change.”

“I don’t know why you think I ever do.” You replied with a dirty smile as you approached him, stroking down his front. He let you do it, naturally. Resting at his jeans, gripping at his belt and affectionately tugging him close to you. “Like you’d want it any other way though, right, sweetheart?”

He didn’t say anything, but didn’t need to. He still let you kiss him, hard. Let you push him against the wall, shove his shirt over his head, kiss and bite down his chest, marking him just like you used to, making him cry out in ways that your machine never could. 

Let you take off your cross around your neck as you felt up his aching dick, though he constantly watched you as you moved, as you dangled it in front of his eyes. You, in turn, watching, waiting for any sort of  resistance from him when there was no chance you were going to get any.

He was, at the very least, easy to read at this point.

-

Though there was no need for restriction, because there wasn’t a chance in hell that either of them were going to put up much of a struggle or not listen to any instruction you gave them, you liked seeing them tied to each other enough to do it. 

Matching collars and cuffs chained together was the easiest route, meant you didn’t have to figure out any bizarre harnesses or use an excessive amount of duct tape to get what you wanted (though you were hardly opposed to either of those options.) Plus you liked seeing the heart shaped declarations around their necks, tying them both to you. Made you want to just sit and look at them take in the fact that you had two perfect boys at your disposal.

Though you had much better things in mind.

Stuart was still easy to put into a trance, despite how long it had been since you last did it. He was always more of a fan of that stuff than you were, so it was entirely for his benefit. 

It was only being fair, after all. You did so many things for yourself.

He looked at you eagerly, almost matching the same mindless naivety that Cyborg had in his eyes. The looks he used to give you such a long time ago when you had him on his knees for you. You didn’t have the patience to put him in anything pretty tonight, but seeing him at your feet, stark naked, his perfect little dick flushed red against his belly made up for that wonderfully. Even better when he barely paid attention to it. Too eager to please you to remember that he could have wants and needs as well.

It’s different from how it used to be though. He had more marks in his porcelain, more scars, more wrinkles, more freckles, more things that make him human. He was still pale enough to be mistaken for plastic though, and the light washed out his colour. His cheeks barely flushed when he was under either, nothing to be embarrassed about when he could barely comprehend it. 

So if anything, he still looks like a doll, just more damaged, more worn out. Like someone’s used him too much, someone’s loved him too much and now he had those imperfections that couldn’t really be ignored.

Your stomach churned when you thought too much about it.

But your dick was hard and he was smiling, waiting for you to say something, tell him to do something that he would do, almost immediately.

“What’s that look for, eh?” You asked, as you tucked your boxers down in front of his wide, blank eyes, showing him your bare dick. “Poor dolly doesn’t know what to do, does he?” Pulling your foreskin back so he could see the shiny piercing at the tip.

“Maybe. Or maybe I wanna just look at it.” He mumbled with a little pout, resting his head against your knee (pulling Cyborg closer to you as a result of his movement. Though it wasn’t going to complain.)

“That stupid, hm?” Pressing an affectionate hand through his hair.

“Yep!” He replied brightly, keening up against your touch. “I’m soooo stupid, so I need Sir t'show me what to do! Don’t I?” Looking up at you expectantly, probably waiting for you to give him what he wanted. “Don’t I, Sir?”

“Mm, don’t think so, sweetheart.” You said, letting out a chuckle at the almost comical way his face dropped. “I think someone else can show you just as easily, don’t you? Don’t think Sir even needs to bother this time.”

Without even being prompted to, almost as if it had been alerted just from hearing him whine with frustration, Cyborg moved in close to Stuart, almost like it was eager and gripped his dick tightly, forcing out a little gasp from him. It clearly had everything it used to do locked into it’s memory, as it was just as fast and ruthless on your poor doll as before, but that didn’t mean you didn’t like seeing it, especially when he didn’t ask for some sort of explanation from you. 

In an almost voyeuristic kind of way, you watched as the two 2D’s played with each other, touching each other in the kind of ways you had taught them. Stuart rubbed at Cyborg’s hole through it’s skimpy, little shorts, making it whimper, despite the complete lack of feeling it had. You could only imagine how wet it must have been already, and how much it didn’t even notice. Imagination got the best of you when you’re wanking off at the sight before your eyes and thinking about how good Cyborg’s hole must have felt. 

Stuart noticed what you were doing, naturally, and his attention turned from stimulating Cyborg to titillating you in almost an instant. He might have been bucking against the machine’s touch, still so easily riled up, but he’s pulling at the chains, pulling Cyborg’s body closer to his so he could press his fingers in deeper, make it whine even louder, feel even more of the warm slick against his fingers.

“Don’t seem that upset with Cyborg anymore, do ya?” You asked him, trying to find your breath as you tightened the grip on your dick, speeding up your pacing a little more.

“Mmm, I know he’s just everything I don’t have that y'want.” He replied dreamily, eyes shut, keening up to rest against you again, making his touches against Cyborg harsher, to an almost brutal degree. “Even though I want to be Sir’s only fuck toy, I’m not selfish. I can share.” He continued with a sleepy little giggle. “Even though I know all of it’s off switches, even the ones that are the most painful. Found all of ‘em.” Finally opening his eyes to look at you, smiling sweetly. “I’m Sir’s favourite fuck toy after all, aren’t I?”

There was a soft edge to his voice as he spoke, though Cyborg’s pained little gasps seemed to drown out the way he drawled out his words. Softer still when he shushed the machine calmly as it came against his fingers, it’s hands too shaky to keep trying to get him off. Still looking at you, waiting for your own climax expectantly.

So you were taken aback by what he came out with. Shocked, surprised that this persona actually had a bit of a jealous streak even when it was directed at something that was essentially itself.

Yeah.

But that did nothing to stop you from cumming on his waiting face, his name the only thing on your lips as you spilled over, eyes squeezed shut, barely thinking about what you just heard.

Stuart’s mouth was already open, his tongue slack as he took all of it eagerly, holding Cyborg’s overheating body in his arms affectionately as it tried to cool down. A tender gesture maybe, though that was before he took what little cum he caught on his tongue and kissed your machine in a bizarre exchange of fluids and a demonstration of the power imbalance between the two of them that you couldn’t take your eyes off of. Cyborg kissed back though, since it couldn’t think to do anything else. Whatever brain Stuart suddenly possessed was too much for it to keep up with, it seemed.

“See.” He said, when he finally pulled back from the kiss, drool and cum dripping down his chin, smiling up at you shamelessly. “I can share.”


	41. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: if u ever wrote more trans murdoc (esp from his pov) that would be the Bomb Dot Com my man

You had to admit, the system that you’d been presented was far from elegant. 

Your hitachi vibe wire wouldn’t stretch far enough and you couldn’t look around the studio for an extension cord in the middle of the night, so after dismissing his suggestions of just doing it on the floor enough times, you resounded with finding the cleanest patch of space you could and leaning up against the wall as he found the dimmer cable for the thing.

Already had your jeans and boxers shoved down around your ankles, two fingers stuffed up yourself as you tried to tide your satisfactions for when he actually found what he was looking for. He kept glancing back at you, and just watching you makes him move quicker. 

He found it eventually, thank Satan. Babbled on and on about getting an attachment kit a few weeks ago, showing some phallic looking doodad that slipped over the head of your vibrator. You were nodding along, pretending to pay attention as you played with yourself, tugging at the ring through your clit, smiling as his long winded explanation eventually winded down as he watched you.

“You’re…really incredible, you know that.” He mumbled softly, smiling like a dope at you. 

“Yeah, I know.” You said through a sharp grin as you moved in close to him, taking your fingers out of your cunt and holding them up to his lips. “Go on.” You insisted, when he looked at you, wide eyed. “Want you to taste before we get started.”

He hesitated for maybe a second before he took your fingers in his mouth, sucking them obediently, even moaning when he tasted your pre-cum on his tongue. The display was so beautifully filthy, you could feel your clit ache just watching him. Could only begin to imagine what he would look like with a vibe on his own clit, maybe a good dildo filling his cunt as well. 

You tugged at his jeans while he lapped your fingers clean, and he quickly picked up the message to get as naked as you were, pulling at his shirt while you dragged his trousers and briefs down around his knees. He hadn’t touched himself yet, but his clit was erect against his bush of blue pubic hair, and you couldn’t help but rub your thumb against it as he plugged the dimmer into your hitachi and plugged the cord into the outlet on the wall. 

Not that he was complaining.

“You’ve gotten bigger.” You mused, teasing along his labia as you touched his clit. Already wet too. “I can see it. Your dick’s lookin’ so pretty now, love.”

Just listening to you speak was making him smile, despite how much he was whimpering. You took the vibe while you had him distracted and switched it on using the dimmer, pressing it up against his clit.

He gasped the second he felt the rumbling head against him, immediately throwing his arms around your neck, clinging onto you as he whined. Still spread his thighs apart though, asking you for more silently, so he didn’t have to beg for it. Your body fit perfectly against his, and it wasn’t difficult to nestle your thighs neatly together so you could feel the head of the hitachi against your own clit (though the speed was underwhelming for you.) You wrap a reassuring arm around his waist, subtly making sure that he couldn’t change his position, move too far away from you. 

“That feel good, babe?” You whispered, kissing his cheeks, over his trembling lips, down his neck, keeping your voice soft. “So pretty for me, Stu. Such a lovely boy.”

You were turning the vibe up gradually, until it hit a frequency that you found a bit more pleasurable. Though from the way Stuart was already trembling, it was a bit too much for him, even if you were doing your best to keep him as calm as you could, so he didn’t lose anything prematurely. 

“C-Can’t take it…” He moaned, still clinging onto you though his grip was getting looser, harder to stay in control. 

“Shhh, I know.” You said softly, kissing up his jaw, around his ear, as you ground your hips down against the hitachi more, still turning it up. “I know it’s too much, baby blue. But ya know what.” You arm around his waist moved so you could stroke up his back, over his front. “I’ll take care of you after, yeah? I’ll kiss your pretty little dick better.” Groping at his chest playfully, pinching at his nipples because you liked the sound he made when it hurt. 

“M-Murdoc, please…” His voice was barely a gasp as he spoke, and he could barely finish as you turned up the vibe even more, making his words finish as a high pitched, pained moan. His whole body shaking against yours, tiny little spasms going down his back.

“I’ll eat your hole out as well, if you want. Wanna see you cum for me even more.” Admittedly, you were starting to get breathless yourself, though not nearly as much as he was. It was hard not to get you off without something in your hole (and ideally something in the other one too) but somehow you were managing just fine with the vibe and him egging you on. 

“Bet you’re dripping by now. Know your dick’s hard anyway.”


	42. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Inspired by that picture-could we get murdoc using his inscribed razor to shave 2ds face n like being all possessive then fucking his pretty boy

Murdoc fiddled idly with the razor, flicking up the blade and sheathing it back into it’s hard ivory cocoon quickly, up and down. Repetitive and precise. The polished silver was sharp enough that it made a  _shink_  sound every time he flicked it and it made you nervous to just watch the harsh bathroom light bounce off of it’s reflective shine. 

He glanced back at you, out of the corner of his eye. Smiling to himself. Running his thumb along the blade, so you could hear the faint sound of metal on skin. Had he angled himself even slightly wrong, he would have cut himself, but he knew much better than to make a little mistake like that.

He wasn’t like you, after all. 

He approached you slowly, heels against tile, and as he got closer, you could read his name slightly embossed on the blade. You didn’t know why but seeing it made your mouth go dry as you hunched up more, sitting on the edge of the loo seat. 

When he stopped, just in front of you, he finally sheathed the razor again, and coaxed your chin up gently with the bone handle, forcing your eyes up so you had to look at him. You struggled to say anything at the best of the times, but when he looked at you like that, you struggled even more. Your tongue felt heavy and useless in your skull, and you thought that anything you could have possibly said would have irritated him or drove him away,

So it was best to say silent.

“Y'look scruffy.” He said, bluntly, after looking at you for a few seconds more. “Thought ya did when I picked you up at the airport but, well. Can’t say that after seven years a stranger, eh?”

Instinctively, you ran your knuckle over your cheek and down your jaw bone. You had a bit of stubble, maybe a bit more than he was used to, admittedly, but nothing that he could have possibly deemed scruffy or unsuitable. But it did suddenly explain why he had the razor, why he so feverishly rushed you into the bathroom and locked the door behind you.

Watching you nervously feel your own cheek made him chuckle though, and he brought the razor handle away. Somehow didn’t lessen your nerves at all.

“You were always pretty shit at keeping up your pretty boy image, mind. Maybe they’ll finally drop it, eh?” As he spoke, he wandered over towards the sink, gesturing vaguely to emphasise his points, distract you from whatever he was doing, how he’d put down the razor and was suddenly running the tap. “After seeing Gorillaz’ resident pretty boy turned out as a scruffy old man like the rest of us.”

“I’m not old.” You mumbled, looking down at your feet, still tracing over the minimal amount of scruff on your chin. “Not scruffy either.”

“Well, not after I’m done with you, no.” He said, idly, watching as the steam from the hot water started to fog up the mirrors on the wall. “After all, if we’re going to have the comeback we deserve, I need my front man looking his best, don’t I?" 

Smirking to himself as your cheeks flushed red from how possessive he still was over you, and he took one of the hand towels from the rack beside the sink, rolling up his shirt sleeves before submerging the towel in the hot water. 

"Still have t'take care of you, eh Stuart?” He teased, an affectionate edge to his voice as he spoke, seemingly oblivious at the way it made you frown. “Still the same after all this time.”

After a few seconds, he brought out the sopping wet towel and wrung the water out, so it still dripped but wasn’t soaking anymore. 

The fact that you were nervous when he approached you with it, when he put it down as he pulled your shirt off over your shoulders and dabbed at your face with it should have spoken volumes that coming back to this place, this life, was a bad idea. Even if you didn’t know what to even be nervous about.

Sitting in a badly lit bathroom, half naked and dripping with water, with the only man you’ve ever loved vaguely threatening you with a blade never did put your mind at ease though.

“Now, I can only imagine what the rest of you must look like, and I’m sure that’ll be a job in itself.” He pushed his free hand into your hair, gripping it tightly and jerking your head back so he had full access to you. Water dripped down your chest and it made you shiver, despite none of it being cold. “But we’ll sort that out on another day. When I have a few more resources, bit more time. When I’m in the right mood, ya know?”

He set the towel down again, in your lap, as he reached for the razor in his pocket. Keeping the firm grip on your hair so you would keep still, but when he was flipping the thing open and holding the blade so close to you that you could see your reflection in it’s silver shine, being fidgety at all was the last thing on your mind. 

Even less so when it was inching closer and closer to your trembling jaw, finally settling against your neck, pressing it against your damp and tender skin. And when you could see him smirk, clearly taking deeply sadistic pleasure in your fear, your mind wasn’t put at ease at all.

“So. Let’s make my singer pretty again.”


	43. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: predator/prey or chasing (THIS DOUBLES AS A REQUEST)

Running, all you could think about was running.

If you didn’t run, you’d be in danger. You’d be dead. He’d find you and do only Lord knows what to you.

So you had to run. 

The forest was pitch black, the moonlight was the only thing you had to guide you in anyway, and even that wasn’t helping. You tripped and stumbled on roots that stopped you running, threatened to trip you up all together. But you couldn’t look down, had to look forward, so you could get away.

Half naked, the cold air was freezing against your bare skin, running didn’t warm you up at all. Neither did the faux fox pelts he’d shoved in your arms, barely did anything. You just breathed out cloud after cloud of white fog as your lungs burned from exhaustion. A painful stitch was already settling in your side but you couldn’t stop running. 

You knew he was close when you heard the stuttered ‘thunk’ of an arrow embedded in solid wood, maybe a few metres back but it’s loud enough for you to hear. 

“Come on, love, I know you can run quicker than that!” He shouted after you. You could hear another arrow, just behind you this time, and out the corner of your eye, his silhouette between the barely there light of his car headlights. 

He’d caught up with you much quicker than you had expected. He’d promised you a five minute head start, it couldn’t have been five minutes already! Not possibly.

Either he had lied to you, or you were much slower at running than you thought.

Regardless, you had to keep going. You could hear more arrows being fired in your direction, none directly at you, of course, but close enough for you to be scared, to make your heart beat quicker and make your blood run cold.

No.

Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t even hesitate.

Just keep running. 


	44. 2RUSSDOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: hi! idk if you take request for stories but can i get some mothafuckin uuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhh 2d x russel? this ship is amazing k thx

Just being between the two of them made your head swim and your heart race. At least from something other than the casual drug use in a rented bathroom in the middle of the night, when your kid was sleeping in a room two doors down.

You’re not sure where the idea came from, and who thought of it first, but you weren’t complaining when you were in this position. Even though the music playing on 2D’s laptop was, frankly, much to mellow for your tastes, you could ignore it, and just jam with the vibe you were all creating together. 

Least that’s what you told yourself to distract yourself from bad 90s shoe gaze.  
Murdoc eagerly wrapped his arms around your middle, leaving smoking kisses down your neck and across your shoulders, making you melt and shudder in his uncharacteristically comforting grip. 2D was already occupying himself between your legs, unbuttoning your jeans and tenderly kneading at the hard bulge already gathering at the front of your boxers. Taking your breath away when he gripped you through the straining fabric, the quirks in his wrist so practised it was like he was made just for this. 

It was too hard trying to keep your composure about all of this, so you didn’t even bother trying to hide how much you loved it. Even though your moans were shuddered and unsteady, the two of them seemed to enjoy them just the same.

“Really don’t have t'do this.” You mumbled, earning their full attention despite the haze from much too good weed on their brains. “Gonna make me feel bad if I got all this without givin’ somethin’ back.”

“Aw, ain’t got nothin’ to worry about there, Russ.” 2D said brightly, as if he wasn’t getting you off from the waist down. Brought his face close to your’s, smiling that sweet, innocent smile of his when what he was doing was the exact opposite. “We wanna look after you.” Kissing your cheek softly. “Wanna make you feel good. So let us.” His other hand tugged at your boxers and jeans, pulling them further down your hips so he could touch your dick without a barrier in the way. 

“As he said, mate.” Murdoc continued, his hands busying themselves with going up the front of your shirt. “You’re our drummer, yeah? Gotta make sure we treat ya right.” Chuckling away to himself as he nipped at your ear lobe, giving it a teasing tug, resting on your chest and cupping your pecks affectionately, thumbs idly stroking over your nipples to keep you on your toes. 

You couldn’t think of any argument for him before 2D had quickly buried his head between your thighs and took the leaking head of your dick in his mouth, mostly because you couldn’t even make words before your brain stopped working all together. Just able to let out a steady string of moans as you fell apart even more between your band mates, your hips barely jutting to press your dick further into 2D’s hot, wet mouth. Boy did nothing to help when he moaned, deep and heavy as he felt the weight of it against his tongue, and he took even more of it in, his hand wrapped securely around the base just as a form of assistance to himself. 

You tangled one of your hands through his hair, not pulling it or pushing him down, no, just as a sort of leverage, gripped onto Murdoc’s wrist with the other as you kept thrusting, oh so gently pressing 2D’s head down. Not like he minded at all, just whined eagerly, looking up at you with his empty eyes as you thrusted deeper. A hand already stuffed down the front of his jeans, so he could get off with you, turned on just by having a dick in his mouth and something pretty to look at. 

“That’s it.” Murdoc growled huskily into your ear, and he started grinding his hard dick against your ass, like he’s trying to get off himself without anyone else’s attention helping him. “Y'look fuckin’ perfect, Russ, shit.” His voice was falling apart into gasps, gaining less and less leverage as he watched the two of you. Pressing his head against the back of your neck, one hand receding from your body, probably to jerk off as well. Breathing heavy against your skin. “Fuck, can’t even imagine how good that dick must be. Is it good, Dents? Tell me how fucking good it is.”

“’S good.” 2D took the time to pull away from you, glancing up at you and Murdoc while he still jerked you off relentlessly, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. Ever the showman. “Really good.” Giving you a sweet smile to show you how much he liked it. 

Murdoc didn’t let him say anything else before he’s gripping the front of his shirt and dragging him into a dirty, hard kiss. Tongue immediately thrust into his mouth, just so he could get a taste of you. Knowing that he was so desperate to taste you made your dick throb even harder, even more when they eventually pull apart, and the string of drool and cum between them breaks.

Makes your mouth water just looking at them.

Murdoc kissed you then, much less hard, much less intense, letting you taste yourself, and 2D’s mouth is back on your dick, and you were getting light headed from how good this all felt. Must have been close to already feel like that. Your singer could almost sense this by the way he touched you, bobbed his head and deepthroating you with more ferocity, desperate to make you cum, make you enjoy this all as much as they were. 

“How’s about I get a taste of that dick next?” Murdoc mumbled against your lips with a teasing smirk, in between still eager pecks down your chin.

“Shit, ya’ll tryin’ to kill me already?” You asked, making him chuckle, press your foreheads together.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, mate.”

“Almost make that sound romantic.”

“Maybe it is.”

You kissed him hard again, gripping your singer’s hair roughly and pressing his head down, thrusting down his throat to cum, clean and easy, and by the way he’s swallowing eagerly, quickly, he didn’t have any particular complaint against it.

“You cum in those briefs of yours, pretty boy?” You asked as soon as you could get your breath back, looking down at 2D as he pulled away from you. “Just from suckin’ dick, huh.“ 

Only getting an embarrassed smile and a steady blush in return.

You could only guess what that meant.


	45. MURDOC STUDY (PEDOPHILIA WARNING)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Your backstories are like my favourite parts of your writing, especially concerning Murdoc- Like I'm so interested in his past boyfriend/s and that guy that did some bad shit to him, it'd be so cool if you expanded on that because it's just so intriguing

“I want to know everything.”

Stuart stood in front of you on a sunny day, though you were still indoors because you couldn’t bear the sun when you were hungover. Held a bottle of good strong rum, your favourite kind in fact, underneath his arm but a stern expression on his face. Looking down on you when he already towered so effortlessly. No chance of any kind of good time from him at this rate. He must have salvaged the bottle from the beach, a boat party that got too rowdy by your experience.

Fuck the rum then, if he was going to keep being miserable.

You were already nursing a slight buzz from this morning’s pre-breakfast cocktail anyway so the rum merely earned an interested glance, a general perk up in your posture that didn’t give anything away.

“Who are ya, my therapist?”

You’re laughing to yourself, because there’s no-one else to laugh with you, and because he certainly wasn’t laughing. If anything, his frown just becomes more pronounced. You grimaced just looking at him and sat up some more.

“Ya know you’re not nearly as pretty as ya used to be when you look like that.” Gesturing at him indirectly. “Lots of wrinkles settin’ in there, mate. Very unflattering actually, ain’t gonna be a good look for the new album.”

“Murdoc.” He’s stern. Much harder than he used to be. It’s a good look for him.

He placed the rum bottle on the table, hard, alerting you even more as he sat opposite you. “I’m serious, alright.” Unscrewing the top. “All that shit ya used to hide from me, all the reasoning behind every fucked up thing you did.” He took a long swig from it, and you realized that the rum, the momentary buzz, the thing that might have aided in you forgetting any of the shit that you loaded onto him, was for him and not for you. So he really was serious about this. Swallowing back the liqueur with a stone face. Good lad.

“I wanna know all of it.”

You just gave him a look, leaning up from your seat and resting your head in your hands, still looking at him like this was a challenge, trying to see any falter to his evident facade. But his expression didn’t give away anything close to nerves or doubt.

So you supposed he was serious then.

“Where do you want me to start?”

And he knew what he was getting himself into.

“Who was Vince?”

-

Vince was a legend of sorts, in your dreary town of Stoke-On-Trent. Which really said a lot about how boring the place actually was that one man could become a legend without doing anything that interesting.

He worked in a record store called The Scratched Needle, a hang about for bored teenagers in the early eighties, that catered to the more out there music of the time. He wore cool clothes, had his hair long and dyed it black, wore it in a scruffy ponytail. He had pierced ears and crooked teeth and would always flirt with all the underage girls who came into his shop after school, a real ladies man.

And apparently a man’s man too. He was just so cool that it didn’t bother anyone. Bowie was doing it, why couldn’t Vince?

Absolutely everything that an eighties man should be and more, but he’d been doing it for years. That made him even cooler somehow.

Least it did to you.

Vince noticed you when you were still young, a teenage delinquent, skipping periods at school and barely scraping your O Levels. Qualifications weren’t deemed necessary when your life was already in the pits. They weren’t something you needed in your line of lifestyle.

You were thumbing through the various new records, daydreaming about one day being able to afford them without having to think about paying your dad rent or replacing shit that had been broken in drunken fits between the two other inhabitants of the house.

A kid could dream.

You’re looking in the metal section when he leaned over your shoulder as he was organizing new stock, eyed the sleeve you were looking at, and said you had good taste through a cloud of grey cigarette smoke.

This excited you beyond belief, naturally, because you were just a kid, barely sixteen and still in high school, and someone older and so much cooler had complimented you. And you took music very seriously too, so that made the compliment even better in your eyes.

He bought you the record, took none of your complaints or arguments, told you he always made an effort to keep loyal customers, and flashed you a crooked, chipped tooth smile. Made your heart melt.

The record was the only thing you listened to for days after that, so much that the needle dug rings into the delicate vinyl. You weren’t even that fond of metal, but knowing that Vince from the Scratched Needle had bought it for you, he could have bought you an ABBA record and you would have reacted just the same. Hearing the same songs over and over again annoyed your dad, your brother, but you couldn’t give a shit how much they pounded on your door. Just made you turn the music up louder as you jumped around your room, headbanging, playing a pretend guitar that you dreamed of having one day.

Already a classic performer.

You skipped school more often after that, hung about the record shop as much as you could, hoping Vince would notice you again. And he always did, though he wasn’t as generous again. Often times he ignored you in favour of talking to the pretty girls who also skipped their lessons to talk to him, made you more jealous that you would have liked to admit. Though he never bought them records either.

You saved up all the spare money you could over two weeks, nicked a couple of quid out of the communal tip jar at the chippy where you did night shifts, took cuts from your dad’s drinking money whenever you could, and bought another album from him. You saw the album artwork on a shirt that he had worn before, so you thought he might have thought highly of you for buying an album that he liked.

And when he smiled at you again from behind the register, commenting about how this was his favourite album actually, have you heard it before, you could feel your body ache for him and your words came at rushed and barely made sense.

He didn’t mind though.

Made him laugh.

You mumbled a question as he ran the record through the till, asking when his shift at the shop would be over. Innocent as a kid could get. And a look came to his face that you didn’t recognise at your young age, but was so obvious now, when you actually remembered it. He leaned over the counter, so close that no-one else might have heard him and suggested that, instead, you could come round to his flat and listen to the record, together. If you wanted to, that is.

Now you were sixteen at the time, you weren’t an idiot and you knew what Vince was suggesting and where this might lead to, if you played your cards right (or wrong, depending on your perspective). But you clearly were an idiot because you just grinned, like a fool, and nodded your head, asking when he’d be free.

He said he was getting off at the shop at seven, had to lock up, would you be around then?

Yes, you said, almost immediately. Whatever was getting in the way of that could be forgotten about, it didn’t matter. Not when Vince from the fucking Scratched Needle wanted you in his flat. And he grinned, just said “cool” as he handed you your purchase. “See you then.” He added and you left the shop, record clutched to your chest.

-

“So. Vince was your first crush then?” Stuart asked with a raised eyebrow.

He’d retrieved two glasses from somewhere out of the blue while you were telling your story, and was steadily nursing a good amount of neat rum as he listened to you. He’d poured you a glass too, and you were getting close to taking it.

“You could say that.” You replied, scratching at your head irritably, something to do with your fingers when you were restless and you couldn’t move.

“So. You were in high school, yeah? Sixteen, like you said.” He paused, waiting for you to answer, and you just nodded so you didn’t have to say anything. “How old was he?”

You grimaced a little to yourself, leaning forward to take your half-empty glass. Much more sophisticated than usual, when you were so far gone that you just drank from the bottle. Stuart could tell you were trying to avoid the question as he watched you drink, his eyebrows knit together in a sort of concern.

“Take a guess.” You mumbled roughly, the clear bitterness to your voice almost making you laugh as you drank.

“Well. Not sixteen, I’m guessing.”

His answer made you laugh, proper and genuine, though remembering all of this when you were in such a state was making it difficult to do anything other than weep about how fucked up your past really was. When the laughter subsided, you had to tell him the truth.

“Twenty years.” You said, before knocking back the rest of your glass, frowning to yourself.

“Well, that’s not so bad.” He said, with a little smile. “Really, y'made him sound much older-”

“He was twenty years older than me, Dents. He was thirty six and I was sixteen.” You interrupted him, scowling at his smile while you poured another glass because fuck him, you needed it right now. “Do I have t'spell it out for you anymore? Fucking hell.”

The colour quickly drained from his face and his smile dropped, wide eyes, as he waited for you to respond in anyway, tell him you were joking or it was just an exaggeration or something.

But he wouldn’t get that from you, not this time.

If he wanted the whole story, he’d get it.

“Fucking hell.” He mumbled, and he’s going for the bottle himself. You can tell it’s probably going to be empty by the time this was all over. “Did you-?”

“If you’re going to ask if I had sex with him, Dents, yes, I did.” Interrupting again, you weren’t in the mood to tiptoe around details by far. “Multiple times as well.” Just to add insult to injury. “It became a routine with us.” You continued, reaching into your back pocket for your pack of cigarettes. You were going to need them. “I’d go to the shop, and he’d take me back to his flat and fuck me. I never missed a day, y'know, dedicated to that twat like it was my fucking job.” You made a soft ‘tsk’ sound as you perched a cigarette between your lips, fumbling for your lighter.

“Did you know how old he was?” Stuart leant forward with his own lighter, igniting the end of the cigarette himself. You didn’t thank him, just inhaled the smoke you so desperately craved. “Like, did y'know it was…a crime, basically?”

“Sort of.” You rasped, exhaling, immediately feeling just a bit better. Addiction was a bastard, but it helped sometimes. Made things a little easier “I just thought it was cool. Like a forbidden lovers sort of thing.” You chuckled to yourself, pressing your head into your hands, just cringing to yourself and your own youthful naivety that was stolen from you such a long time ago. “Though that’s all we were.” Frowning again. “Just lovers. Never called me his boyfriend, even though I tried to get him to. Think it just made him uncomfortable.”

“Cus he knew what he was doing. He knew it was wrong.” Talking like he was trying to reassure you. Like you hadn’t had this conversation before.

“Bingo.” You mumbled, and the affirmation was just for him. Didn’t help you in anyway.

“So, what happened then?” He continued, eyebrows knit together again. “What did that lead up to?”


	46. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Okay so maybe some demon murdoc fillin up our boy 2d with eggs
> 
> this one's mental

You weren’t quite sure how you’d managed to get yourself in this mess. 

One minute you take on some kooky older bloke as a housemate because landlord had hiked up the rent and you needed a place to live. The next minute he tells you he’s actually a demon who’s been backpacking around England for the last century, and suddenly, for no reason, you were in a nest like hovel, several miles underground, sitting in a squirming mess and pretending this is all, in fact, very normal and you had no problem with it what so ever. 

This was a mess, of course.

Something only you could have gotten yourself into.

Murdoc had said he had a proposition for you. You’re not even sure if you even know what that word means.

“I could have had my pick of anyone, ya know. Any of you humans, right. Lots of people are interested in a fella like me, I’ll tell you that. I’ve honestly had propositions since the middle-ages.” He mused thoughtfully, looking down at his claws, inspecting them, eyes occasionally glancing up at you and how you struggled. A sadistic smile crossing his face as he squat down in front of you, his head cocked. “But you have to understand, love. I had you in mind the second I looked at ya.”

“You make less and less sense the more ya speak.” You said, with a small frown that he just laughed at. 

He was still no closer to properly explaining any of this to you, clearly just enjoying the way you squirmed in the coiled mass of tentacles and relishing in your confusion. 

“Ah, don’t you worry about gettin’ sense out of an old man like me, sweetheart.” He said brightly, with a sharp toothed smile. “How about we just get you comfortable, eh?”

You weren’t able to ask him what he meant by that before he was up on his feet (hooves?) again, moving close to you and the mass, which naturally made room for him and gave him a proper place to stand.

From that, you could only assume he controlled the squirming tentacles to a degree, and this became even more obvious when they quickly coiled around your ankles and knees, forcing your body spread the second you tried to clamp your legs shut. Giving him full access to what he wanted.

But he just chuckled at your whimpering and ran a teasing claw over the zip of your jeans, making your hips jut at the sudden attention from nowhere. Unbuckled your belt slowly, glancing up at your flushed face, waiting for any sort of indication that you might not want this, though, of course, he found nothing of the sort. 

You felt weirdly secure by the way he smiled at your wordless, but obvious consent.

He tugged your jeans down as far as they would go (about mid-thigh before they started to strain from the stretch) and moved his hand up again to knead at the front of your boxers, feeling how your dripping cunt had already soaked through the thin cotton within a matter of minutes. He said nothing, just smirked to himself as he touched you, drinking in your gasps and whimpers with a satisfied sigh of his own. Through hazy eyes, you swore you could see something moving between his legs, though they were squeezed tight when he pressed the heel of his hand against your cunt, hard, and all you could think of was how good it felt.

As he worked, more of the glistening mass of tentacles encircled your body, though they were as gentle as their master. A pair brought your wrists high above your head and pinned them there as another pair snaked up the front of your shirt, staining the light fabric with black, viscous fluid. Tracing over your nipples, the cool fluid working wonders in cooling down your burning body, despite how sensitive you were and how much you flinched every time the tips flicked over them. Your shivering did nothing to deter them though.

“Thought about this for quite a while, Stuart.” He said, his voice oddly soft as he dragged your boxers to the side with a crooked finger, running a sharp claw over your clit, making your body go still from shock. “Wanted you in my nest the second I looked at ya. Maybe that’s a bit discourteous to you humans, but to us demons. Sweet satan, there’s no bigger compliment out there, mate.”

Chuckling at your sudden stillness before he stroked over you with his knuckle, making you shiver even more again, your loins already throbbing uncomfortably as you twisted.

“C-Can be a compliment for us as well.” You said, your voice shaking as you felt another tentacle wind up your leg, under your jeans. “J-Just depends who ya ask, I s'pose.”

“Is it a compliment to you, pet?” He asked, letting out a cackle of a laugh when your face flushed red again, just from the affectionate use of pet name. “Shall I take that as a yes then?” His voice had slipped into a purr as his soft touch on your clit continued relentlessly and the tentacle up your leg was now stroking over your labia, almost inquisitive as to what it’s master was up to. 

Every single touch from both Murdoc and the tentacles (both in your trousers and up your shirt) was making your head spin and the pleasure from your erect clit was quickly moving into white hot, intense pain, the kind that you adored and begged for so often. Pulling at your binds in no way helped either, as they held fast and just tightened with every pull you gave. 

It’s almost shameful how much you liked how tight the bondage was. If you had your way with any of this, there was no limit to what you could have done with those things.

While your mind wandered away from you, you could feel more of the thinner tentacles up your trouser leg as the one already stroking inched closer and closer to your dripping hole, clearly interested in what might have been going on.

“Are you c-controllin’ these things, or-?” You started, only to be cut off with your own weak cry as it buried itself deep in your cunt, without even a second of warning. You could already feel it twitching and pulsating inside of you and just that feeling enough made you keep whimpering.

“Mm, a bit.” He drawled, moving back a little to rest his head in his right hand, lean up on a pile of tentacles that coiled underneath you, still stroking your clit with a lazy smile. “They mostly just take my suggestions, least they did to begin with.” His smile quickly quirked into a teasing grin as he moved in closer to you.

“Although…they might be interested in how warm your body is. Explains this one at least.” He affectionately prodded at the pulsating tentacle stuffed in your cunt, chuckling at the way your face must have dropped from hearing his explanation. “Don’t look so sour, love, they’re absolutely harmless! Lookin’ like they’re gonna eat ya or somethin’.” Chuckling to himself again.

You could feel the seams of your jeans start to strain as more of the appendages became “interested” in the “warmth” that Murdoc was talking about, as they nestled close to your labia, tips teasing at your already spread hole. One even coiled around your clit and gripped tight, which made you let out a noise so high in pitch you were slightly unsure you’d even made it at first.

Murdoc was more than happy to just sit back and watch for the time being, relaxing into a quickly gathering clump of tentacles that supported his body just how he wanted. Stopped touching you and he wasn’t even touching himself, just watching you get your brain fucked out by a semi-sentient mass of tentacles interested in much more than just your body heat at this point.

“Though I must say, never seen ‘em play with someone like this before.” He mumbled, eyes quickly darting up to yours, staring at you with a gaze half loving and half predatory. “They must like you much more than anyone else I’ve done this with.”

You almost wanted to ask him what he meant by that, who else was there, who else had he done this with before, but when a second tentacle stuffed itself inside your cunt, any words you might have had dissolved into strangled whimpers and cries as your body arched in the tight hold of the slippery mass.

All the sensations that you were being put through were quickly beginning to get too much for you to handle, and an involuntarily shudder coursed down your arched spine as the two tentacles intertwine and pulsate harder inside you. Your mouth hung open, gasping and panting, your tongue slack as you tried to make words, tried to make begs and pleas to keep going, never stop, please don’t stop, though they all just fall out as stuttered syllables and slurs. 

Murdoc didn’t seem to mind though, even chuckling with amusement as he leaned forward in his fleshy hammock, stroking over your tongue, over the drool dripping down your chin with soft, slow fingers. Cooing soft words of encouragement (good pet, lovely boy, doing so well) to you before he dipped his head and licked up your jaw, sucking little love bites on your skin with sharp teeth that only made you whine more. Lapped at your tongue affectionately, before he pulled you into a soft kiss, counteracting all of the brutal actions of the tentacles who were still listening to his own brutal commands. Unable to move in close to him, your binds keeping your body as still as he wanted you, you just whined against his lips, eyes sliding shut from the comfort of his soft touch.

His hands idly trailed down your front and over your hips, claws tracing delicate red lines down your pale skin, making you shudder even more. Maybe it’s pathetic that all of this was pushing you that much closer to your edge, making you want to cum even more, but you were far past the point of caring at this point.

You just wanted to let him use your body however he wanted, take all of it with a smile, even though you didn’t have a clue what he was talking about earlier. Everything about this made your confusion worth it.

It didn’t take long for you to eventually get too close against the constantly thrusting tentacles, your body tensing up quickly against Murdoc’s, pulling at your binds (though they just got tighter), pulling away from the kiss.

He must have known this, as did the tentacles as the thrusting became faster, almost piston like, and all you could do was throw your head back in a near scream and cum harder than you ever had before, your vision spotted with white and the appendages inside you suddenly gushing that same fluid inside your trembling body.

As soon as you had come down from your post-orgasmic high, you immediately felt safe, despite where you were, who you were under. Murdoc stroked through your hair slowly, shushing your constant panting, and the tentacles around your cunt slowly retracted, stroking soft, almost apologetic touches down your thighs, their dripping fluid so cool on your skin that you’re smiling and sighing to yourself, your brain miles away from the rest of you.

Barely seconds into your euphoric high had passed before you were thinking about what he had said before all of this though.

How he had you in mind.

How he had the pick of anyone but ultimately choosing you.

Because he liked you. His words, not yours. 

You had no idea what any of that could have meant, but when your tentacle bindings hadn’t loosened and he hadn’t moved from his makeshift hammock, you could only guess that this wasn’t over in the slightest.

“Hey, er, Murdoc?” You said, finally finding your voice though your body still involuntarily trembled. He gave you a slight noise of acknowledgement in response, pressing you to keep talking as he stroked through your hair lazily.

“What ya said before. What did that mean? You know, when you said you had your pick of anyone?” Pulling at the appendage around your wrist. “And you wanted me the second you saw me?”

He looked at you with a quirked eyebrow, though his expression gave away no kind of answer. Just raised further questions for you.

“S'pose there’s no point in playin’ coy at this point, right lad?” He said, a slight brightness to his voice as he stood up again, the mass of tentacles beneath him recoiling as soon as he moved away from your slack body.

“Alright, alright, I won’t be subtle about it.” He started. “But you get that askin’ you to sire my young is a massive compliment, don’t you?” He asked you, pacing almost erratically in front of you, his tail wagging as he spoke and moved, like a cat showing off. “I mean, I haven’t done this with anyone in about three hundred years, so I’m breaking my bachelor streak with you, mate. Doin’ what all demons should do, ya get me?”

“Wait, hang on, what’s that mean?” You asked, voice stumbling a little as you tugged at your slippery binds a little more, though they still just tightened, telling you no in their own way. “Siring your young…I-I don’t get that.”

Your clueless, naive nature just made him grin though, devilish and sadistic, knowing he had you in the palm of his hand.

“Well, simply put, Stuart.” He started, squaring up to you, using his sudden height advantage over you the best he could, cupping your chin and bringing his faces close to your’s. “It means I want to breed you.” His grin faded into a (frankly) evil smirk as he stroked down your cheek, loving and careful, counteracting his words. “I want to stuff your pretty body with my eggs. And then I want t'keep you here. Look after ya, yeah?” As he spoke, he leaned in closer to you, his other hand resting on one of your spread thighs. Could clearly feel the way your body trembled. “I want my children to be in your image, love.”

He didn’t give you any time to respond in anyway before he dragged you into a hard, crushing kiss, his hands keeping your body spread along with the tentacles that still kept you bound, always tightening as you moved. Any response you might have had was drowned out with frantic whimpers and whines anyway, and you couldn’t think of any reason to say no to his proposition anyway.

As he kissed you, the hand on your thigh edged down slowly, resting over where your cunt was still leaking with cum and the black fluid from the tentacles. You’re not quite sure what that stuff was (he probably knew) but it worked wonders with aiding your sensitivity and was viscous enough to work effectively as lubricant. 

You could only guess that you were going to need it for what Murdoc had in mind.

He pressed two fingers inside of you, quickly, just to make sure you were still loose enough for him, and you had to pull away from the kiss to let him hear the moan you let out. Already gasping, already overwhelmed. Feeling him kiss down your neck, feeling his sharp-toothed smile against your skin before he bit down and marked you, owned you, pushed you even further, already so desperate for it that it hurt.

He stepped back just slightly, one hand still resting on your thigh, though the other was busying itself between his legs, goading himself on, finally touching himself.

You were unsure how exactly this “breeding” thing was going to work, especially with what he had in mind about eggs and what not when the two of you had (essentially) matching genitalia, but nothing could have prepared you for what came from his touching. 

As he touched himself more, a short appendage started to unsheathe itself from his hole (cunt?) and slowly squirm up to his belly, resting there like an erection would, though it wouldn’t stop squirming, almost on it’s own accord. A thick, almost pearled tip and a flexible shaft, much longer and thicker than any dick you’d come across in your twenty five years. The thing was a god damn monster, as far as you were concerned.

Though that didn’t stop you from looking at it, enthralled by it’s shape and size.

And slightly concerned how Murdoc intended to fit the thing inside of you.

He just laughed at your surprise and the shocked white of your eyes, gripping at the monster between his legs as if it didn’t bother him.

As if it was normal.

Though this was all getting to be the exact opposite with every second that passed.

“Ya look like you’ve seen a ghost, love.” He teased sweetly, hands back on your thighs, stroking affectionate circles against your skin. Calming you down because he knew you were shitting yourself.

“I think a monster is a bit more appropriate a word.” You murmured, but it made him chuckle anyway.

“Come now, you’re gonna hurt my feelings if ya don’t watch out." 

He spoke through an almost hurt pout, and you couldn’t tell if he was being honest with you or not, but as soon as you felt the pearled tip of his dick against your cunt, any guilt you had for hurting his feelings was immediately replaced with your nerves being set alight, freezing against him, your entire body tense.

"Y'think we could maybe rethink this whole breeding business?” You said, much too quickly and through a nervous smile. 

He just looked at you, his head cocked, frowning just slightly.

“You don’t want this?” He asked, and you were almost sure that you didn’t, but something stopped you from shaking your head. 

And he could tell.

Like he could always tell with you.

“I’ll go slowly.” He whispered, bringing his face close to yours, the gesture almost romantic. “It won’t feel bad at all, I promise you. So many people would leap at the chance to carry a demon’s child you know. You’re a lucky boy.” Kissing your cheek, calming you down. “Lucky I like ya so much. Don’t wanna hurt you at all, no no.” Pulling back again. “I promise. Just a little stretch and then…heaven.“ He grinned down at you, and all you could do was smile, nod because you couldn’t find words to say how much you actually, really, desperately wanted this.

He rocked his hips forward slightly, a bulbed tip of his dick pressing against your open hole, slowly easing inside you. He was right, it was a stretch, and you grimaced as you initially tried to accommodate him, but the second it was inside you, and you could feel that soft length and the hard tip almost immediately press against your g-spot, you were exactly where he said you’d be.

Pure fucking heaven.

You threw your head back with a desperate cry, your eyes squeezed shut, your hands in desperate fists above your head and your toes clenched. His name the only thing to leave your lips as he started to thrust, in and out of you, filling you up to your peak and leaving you wanting more every time he pulled away.

You could easily see yourself getting addicted to this, getting addicted to this wonderful, constantly full feeling. 

You could already tell that no-one else would be able to satisfy you the way that your very own personal monster did.

Just the idea was a turn on.

He couldn’t force it in to his base exactly, and the length he could get inside already felt like he could puncture one of your lungs (in the best possible way) but fuck if you cared about any of that. You were more than happy to just lie back here, in a mass of coiling, constantly moving tentacles that bound you and kept you still while he fucked you until you couldn’t even remember your name anymore. 

He probably could have asked you to do anything at that point, and you would have done it, whatever it might have been.

Stay with him forever. Be his and only his for the rest of your life. Sell your fucking soul to him.

You probably would have done anything to keep feeling this horrifically wonderful feeling. 

You came first with a whimper and his name being screamed as you clenched tight around him, biting your lip so hard you could taste blood. 

You weren’t sure if he was close at all, but he had no intention on stopping, keeping his thrusts hard and brutally fast, digging his claws into the meat of your thighs. Pounding your over-sensitive cunt, not giving you any time to get over such an intense orgasm lest he be distracted from the task at hand.

So you took it, kept whimpering and whining as he fucked you. Tears streaming down your cheeks, your mouth open, your tongue dripping with drool that he barely paid attention to. 

It felt good. It felt so fucking good.

But it was horrible. White hot heat was quickly spreading through your body and you could feel your eyes rolling back into your skull, almost unable to breath save for panicked gasps of air whenever you had the chance to.

But he was getting close, you could tell that much at least. The way he squeezed his eyes shut, the way his forked tongue hung down his chin, the way his dirty talk became nothing but grunts and murmurings that you didn’t understand.

Eventually you started to feel it.

The same thickness of his tip spreading up the rest of his length, thicker inside you and pushing your hole open that much more.

You didn’t have the energy to ask any sort of questions. You just whimpered as you kept feeling that thickness.

There was a sudden heavy feeling in your stomach, and you could tell what it was almost instantly. 

The first of his eggs.

You weren’t entirely sure how any of this was going to work, since you’d made your uterus uninhabitable with years of weekly medication, but you supposed none of this really matted to demons, monsters. Human biology was all the same to them, as long as you had the basic parts they’d manage to make it work.

You almost laughed thinking about how your mum had always wanted you to have a kid. 

At least she was getting what she wanted, in a sick, weird sort of way.

This continued for another few minutes, until you felt uncomfortably full and heavy, and there was a slight bulge in your tummy area that made your belly button piercing strain. Just looking at it gave you a slight rush of body dysmorphia, though you were less upset about it than you thought you’d be.

As soon as he was done, Murdoc let out a satisfied groan and came hard, deep inside of you, holding onto your still shuddering body. Pulled out of you almost immediately, though he was soft at that point and it barely felt like anything at all, thankfully.

The tentacles that had so feverishly held you still for their master retracted from your aching limbs one by one, leaving you in a tangled, nest-like mass that was much more comfortable than you thought it would be. Supported you easily as you lay back, exhausted but happier than you’d been in years, and Murdoc lay with you, his arms around your hips, resting his head next to your bulging tummy. 

You just had to guess that fatherly instinct was kicking in. 

Weirdly sweet, even by your human standards.

"Gonna look after you.” He mumbled softly, resting his head against your stomach, and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or the bump. “Not gonna make the mistakes I did last time. Promise.”

You didn’t think to ask him what he meant.

Just fell asleep like that.


	47. 2D + OC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Since ur doing requests what about something with raver 2d? High out of his mind getting fucked by some guy in a club bathroom or something and having the time of his life

He didn’t tell you his name at any point, not when he was selling you pills, not when you took them together, not when he groped you on the dance floor, or when he pulled you through the sweaty crowds and to the empty bathroom.

So you just called him Mystery Boy, because it fit him.

Mystery Boy smiled at you, cheeky and eager to please, showing off a charming little chip in his front teeth. Hurrying to unzip your absurdly tight trousers that left nothing to the imagination as he kissed down your neck, the scruff on his chin irritating you but not enough to ask him to stop.

The ecstasy still dissolving on your tongue made you feel like your brain was melting, right out of your nostrils, in the best possible way. He’d sold you good stuff, you had to give that to him. Good drugs always made these experiences feel fuzzy and a little bit fake and easier to forget in the morning, because of how rough the comedown could be.

Not to say Mystery Boy was forgettable, no no, he was perfectly sweet.

You just preferred it when you couldn’t remember encounters like this.

When he kissed you (hard and sloppy, a bit of a newbie), his tongue felt chalky (cocaine on the gums, most likely), and the sheen of the gel in his liberty spikes became almost obnoxious under the artificial glow of the bathroom lights, but when you were horny and desperate, he was more than fine. Plus he was sort of cute and had anti-war and The Clash patches stitched sloppily on the back of his jean shorts.

You weren’t going to get much better.

He asked how old you were, and you said nineteen. He just mumbled “good, same here” against your lips, and you had to wonder why he asked for a second, but you didn’t think much of it when his hand was stuffed down your front, fondling your dick, squeezing it just the way you liked as he tongued your nipples through your fishnet vest, his other hand grabbing your ass through thick latex. Making you gasp and shudder with barely any effort. 

More of your brain dribbled out of your nose with every touch and you loved every medicated second of it.

He peeled your trousers down and went down to his knees in front of you, stroking down your latex clad thighs, getting in a good eyeful of you, mouth practically watering.

“Fuck, that’s a beautiful cock.” He murmured softly, and you giggled because no-one had ever referred to your dick as beautiful before, and he lapped at the head with a pierced tongue eagerly, smiling at the taste. Made you stop laughing very quickly.

Seeing him on his knees gave you a bit of a power rush, and you cheekily pressed your fingers through the back of his hair, gripping it hard and jutting your hips forward more, pressing yourself deeper down his throat. He didn’t seem to mind at all though, moaning eagerly against you and groping your bare ass as he sucked you off, easily taking you down to the base without even the slightest gag.

You could barely make any sort of words or encouragements for him, from the sensations from the mystery boy and the haze on your brain, so you just whimpered and groaned and bucked your hips in time with him bobbing his head.

You hoped you could maybe convince him to score you a bit of that coke and take this somewhere else so he could fuck you properly.


	48. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: i'm so embarrassed to send this gurghhg but could you do some stuffing with murdoc praising 2d guhhuuhhuug
> 
> this one sucks

“Is all of this really necessary?”

Unconventional bondage wasn’t exactly surprising for him.

It wasn’t entirely out of character for him to tape you to one of the kitchen chairs because you’d accidently let slip that you hadn’t eaten since the night before, just like it wasn’t out of character when he zip tied your wrists and ankles together and forced you into the bath when you told him you forgot to shower.

It was always over the top, yes, but it wasn’t surprising.

Though the difference this time was him sitting in your lap, pinning you down even more than the duct tape did, armed with a fork and a pot of leftover pasta carbonara that he’d made for the rest of your band when you were too busy sleeping off your pain medication.

Though admittedly you’d been in much work predicaments than this one.

“This is what happens when y'don’t eat all day, sweetheart.” Murdoc scolded almost playfully, the teasing smile on his face took away any sincerity the statement might have had. Idly twirled his fork in the still half empty pot as he looked you up and down. “This makes it fun for me too.”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose!” You replied instantly, straining against your pound-shop bondage, though he barely moved, clearly comfortable in your lap. “I just got busy and forgot! I do that all the time.”

“Yes, that’s true, but today I noticed.” His tone was oddly light and sing-song as he held a heavy fork of pasta and mushrooms in front of your face, close enough that you could still see steam rising from it and you could smell how good it was. Made your mouth water a bit. “And since you’re my front man, it’s my job to take care of you. Like I always do, right?” Tapping your nose affectionately. “‘Cus pretty boys like you need help with that, sometimes.”

You felt your cheeks flush and warmth spread across your face, which of course just made him smile even more.

Resting the pot in his lap, he gripped at your chin firmly, keeping your mouth open as he pushed the fork past your lips. Though the force of the action was quickly counteracted by the warm comfort that filled your cheeks and spread over your tongue and you groaned, delighted with how good vegetarian carbonara actually tasted.

“There’s a good boy.” He cooed softly, watching you eat with a deep satisfaction you hadn’t seen from him before. “Bet that must feel nice after not eating for such a long time, eh?”

You just replied with a quick nod, because suddenly your executive dysfunction and memory issues had worked in your favour and this was all worth the stomach aches you’d had all day.

“Holy shit, Murdoc, this is delicious.” You mumbled, despite having your mouth full. Murdoc didn’t seem to mind that much though, smirking to himself as he loaded up his fork again.

“Got lots leftover from tea, so you have plenty more to enjoy.” Glancing at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes as you swallowed down the mouthful of pasta. You were already feeling the slight fullness in your stomach from one bite, and all of this was suddenly making much more sense as you thought about it more. “And I got plenty of time t'watch you eat this entire pot too. I’ll stay here all night.”

Bringing up another forkful of food to your lips, his lips quirked in a teasing grin at how your face had dropped, and how you’d so quickly figured out that you weren’t getting out of that seat anytime soon..

“Hope you’re hungry.”


	49. 2DOC + CYBORG 2D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Okay all I can think is like murdoc taking cyborg out in public as like a "date" and like ends up fucking him in a public bathroom and video calling 2d so he can watch

**_Murdoc N. is calling. Accept the call? [YES] [NO]  
Call accepted. Connecting now…_ **

“How’s that angle for ya? See everything?" 

The sound of Murdoc’s voice was loud and clear over your phone, the distant thumping of club music barely noticeable in the background. He was still adjusting the angling of his phone camera though, switching from setting it upright and on it’s side, just to test what looked best.

"Dunno what I’m supposed t'be lookin’ at, Murdoc, but I see ya fine.” You said, burying your face against your thin duvet, not even bothering to sit upright as you watched him faff with it a bit more through the tiny call screen on your phone. “What do you want anyway? Shouldn’t you be enjoying your night out?”

This had all started because he wanted a night out, for some reason, like he worked so hard. He’d invited everyone along but you weren’t in the mood, Russel refused to go to night clubs anymore, and Noodle was out with Ace, doing whatever it was that young lesbians did with each other. And he wasn’t “sad enough” to go by himself, as he had put it, so he thought that Cyborg 2D would have been a worthy substitute in your place.

Meant the going out was suddenly more of a date, and maybe you would have been interested if that’s what he’d originally had in mind and asked you about, but it was too late to change your mind at this point. 

“Well, this is just something a bit more for me t'enjoy now, isn’t it?” Murdoc replied, finally setting his phone down and grinning into the front facing camera. The unflattering angle made you smile a bit, but when he stepped back and revealed Cyborg, you had a reason to frown again, though you didn’t know why you expected anything less from Murdoc when he was in this sort of mood. “Just thought I’d show you what we were doin’ so you didn’t feel left out, y'know.”

A skimpy tight skirt, hitched up so high it could have probably revealed some more intimate bits if it wasn’t careful. A ridiculously sheer black top that left nothing to the imagination, his cross hanging around its neck where it usually belonged. 

Showing off a subservient nature that was just natural to it’s programming, without having to be bent against a bathroom wall and without having its masters fingers stuffed up one of its holes so quickly that even a machine couldn’t hold back its surprise.

Though they certainly didn’t harm its picturesque image of submission. 

“Satan alive, mate, y'should see how some of these guys look at him.” Murdoc continued rambling to you, though mostly to himself as he warmed up his machine, tugging up the skirt even more to show that Cyborg didn’t even have any knickers on, let alone briefs or boxers. 

Bloody typical.

“Y'shouldn’t have it out in the open like that.” You mumbled softly, wanting to look away, despite your near hyper-focus on the video on your tiny screen. Just couldn’t look away. “Someone might recognise ya and…I dunno, get curious about what you’re up to.”

“Oh, sweetheart, trust me when I say this place is high class, alright.” Murdoc assured you, though you weren’t listening to him that well when you could only focus on how he now had two fingers stuffed up Cyborg’s pseudo-pussy, making the poor robot convulse and shiver, tinny groans falling from it’s parted lips. Kept you interested at the very least. “Don’t think even we’re big enough to cause a fuss here. Perfectly safe, right Cyborg?” Cooing softly at his creation as he sped up his thrusting fingers, waiting for Cyborg to nod in agreement. 

Though this was a reprogrammed thing, of course, since it was never allowed to disagree with either of you, in case it learned how to think and got brains for itself.

That was a scary thought.

“Just keep an eye out.” You said, though you were still unable to look away from their display. Unable to look away from something that was essentially you being used by a man who didn’t even have a label in your life anymore. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Your words wound me, Stuart, they really do.” He replied with a wry smirk, his voice a lazy drawl as he pulled his fingers out of Cyborg and gripped at its shirt, hard enough that it might have teared the delicate fabric, shoving it down to its knees roughly and bending over the seat of the toilet with the sole of his boot.

When its face was so close to the camera, you actually see less of yourself in it’s sleek white plastic. No freckles, no wrinkles, just perfectly smooth.

It almost makes you feel a little better about what he’s doing.

Murdoc went down on one knee, and reached over for his phone again, switching the cameras so as he pulled back, you got a better view of Cyborg, bent over the bathroom seat, its perky little ass up as it arched its back for its master, obedient.

Just like you used to be.

Murdoc said nothing, just hooked his thumb against the hem of Cyborg’s skirt and pulled it up, exposing its bare ass, slightly more lifelike and actually soft looking than you remembered. Must have been an upgrade or something, because when Murdoc touched it, he actually had a handful of something to grope, rather than smooth plastic to just stroke and admire.

“Got some new parts imported from some weird blokes in Japan. He was long overdue for an upgrade, y'know.” Murdoc said, breaking the silence, though his voice was somewhat soft. Must have been looking at you in the viewfinder on his own phone, looking at how you were bright red and silent, eyes wide just so you could watch.

He ran a slow finger over the machines ass, down its taint and stroked over it’s realistic looking labia, pressing against it just enough that you could see the shining, viscous fluid leak out of it in a heavy strand, and drip down its thigh.

The more Murdoc touched, the more the machine twitched.

“Looks nice, doesn’t it?” He asked, pressing his finger deeper inside Cyborg’s cunt, already crooking his finger and rubbing at the sensitive bits. Making it shiver even more. Making you shiver. “Certainly got what I paid for.”

Without waiting for your response, he set the camera down on the floor, keeping the front facing camera on though, and tapping at it idly just so he could see the angle and everything he wanted on his own viewfinder. 

When he finally liked what he saw, he started to unbutton and unzip his jeans, halfway down his thighs, quickly pressing his dick deep inside his subservient fuck machine without even a word of warning or at least giving Cyborg any sort of time to acknowledge what he was going to do.

Then again, machines didn’t need to worry about that.

That fact alone made you feel weird, and made you doubt the legitimacy of Murdoc’s caring or compassion for his cyborg. 

But it didn’t stop you from reaching underneath the duvet and rubbing at yourself through your boxers in feigned interest.

But not much did, in your defence. 


	50. 2DOC + MURDOC/OC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: prompt based on get it up by msi: murdoc cant get turned on by anyone except 2d and it FUCKS WITH HIM

Maybe this was a stupid idea.

Maybe it was unreasonable to expect that you’d always have someone to keep up with your relentless appetite for sex, drugs and rock and roll, or other things screen-printed on cheap t-shirts and sold on Camden Market. Maybe it was unreasonable that you thought people should even want to, when there was no way you were going to do anything to accommodate their needs, their wants, no way you’d try to slow down for anyone.

But fuck them for being younger than you but somehow less energetic and less fun. What was the point of youth if you didn’t do anything with that?

That was your thought process at least, necking back straight shots of rum as you tried not to think about how her arm curled around his waist, how she held him close to her, almost as if she knew. She probably did know, not like you were subtle at all. Just doing things like that to get under your skin.

He just smiled, looking at you like he was trying to apologise for something. Something he barely knew was wrong, knowing him.

So maybe this was a stupid idea.

Absolutely a stupid idea, actually.

Flirting with a skinny little queen in the only gay bar that was open this late at night. Buying too many drinks that were probably too strong and would make a hard dent in your next bank statement, because you liked the way he looked when he smiled. A gap in his front teeth, a barely there gold tooth at the back of his eager grin.

You didn’t catch the name, that or he didn’t throw it, making this whole exchange even less real. Though of course the sheer amount of alcohol in both your systems helped with that, a lot. Blurred everything out so you wouldn’t be able to remember it the next morning.

Looks nothing like him, thankfully. Tall, taller than you anyway (like that was hard), but not as skinny, not as soft looking either. Sharp cheekbones, ginger hair, freckles, a twang to his voice that you couldn’t localise him. No, nothing like him.

And that was for the best really.

It was pathetic enough that you were picking up a stranger from a gay bar for one night of action, you didn’t need to make it worse by finding a stranger that looked like him.

-

He’s naked, on all fours, hands tangled in your sheets.

Your brain, drunk on rum, almost confused him with your singer, though the thighs lacked the characteristic dashed white scars, back muscles barely freckled, unlike his, despite the ginger hair. 

The fact he didn’t even have a name you could call him didn’t help with your rampant imagination, as you graciously ignored anything that might have been different from him, and imagined something faraway from the truth. If you squinted enough, you could pretend the tangling hair on the pillows was blue instead.

The drunken slur on your brain wasn’t helping at all either, and you struggled to even get the condom on your half hard dick (because, really, nothing about this was at all attractive to you), let alone even think about how you’re going to approach any of this when your brain was miles away from you.

You stranger was at least eager though, spreading his hole open just for you to see, simpering away enough dirty talk just to get you to fuck him quicker. You tried not to hear it, because the northern twang was nothing like the weirdly comforting speaking voice that you’d come to love so much. Especially when it was gasping, moaning, trying to keep quiet in case someone might have been listening.

Head thrown back, skinny little body shivering against yours, near white skin against dark brown. Short, chewed at nails raking painfully down your back when you bit his neck, his shoulders, when you whispered dirty things to him that made his pale skin flush red, made you grin. The way his chest heaved every time you touched him, the loud he was from the smallest amount of effort.

Just thinking about him made you hard enough that you could get the condom on, and actually make a start on getting something from your stranger.

And it’s manageable for a while. Holding his hips, pressing yourself in and out of him, at your own pace, doing whatever you wanted to do. Pretending he was someone else, forcing yourself far away from everything going on here.

But eventually, you couldn’t pretend. His sounds and his demands permeated the wall around your brain, and you lost any desire to keep going, and your body clearly agreed with you too, when you couldn’t keep going without going soft.

So you had to pull out. Had to, or it was going to hurt.

He looked over his shoulder at you, grimacing as you pulled out of him. You could sympathise with that, at the very least.

“What’s your problem?” He grunted roughly, fists tight in the bed sheets, waiting expectantly for you to keep going. “Are you stopping, or something?”

“I swear this has never happened t'me before.” You mumbled, moving your hips away from his so you could wrap your fingers around your dick, just to force something that probably wasn’t coming. Just to pretend. “Just…fuck, just give me a minute alright.”

“Oh my god, are you still soft? He was quick to sit up then, glaring at you with sudden unforgiving sobriety, his voice a harsh snap. "Holy shit, you know how fucking rude that is? What, am I not hot enough for you?”

“No, fuck, you’re hot, alright! You’re really fit as fuck, trust me.” You stuttered, your voice almost panicky as he glared at you accusingly. “Just…I just need a second okay. Do somethin’…sexy, or whatever.”

“Do something sexy?” He repeated sarcastically, a single eyebrow raised as he looked you up and down.

“I’m just really drunk, mate, I promise this hasn’t happened before.”

“Fuck, am I a rebound then? Is that it?” He near shouted at you, still glaring.

You thought it best to not continue touching yourself.

“Ugh. Whatever.” He said with a huff as he got off the bed, suddenly stone cold sober as you floated in a drunk daze of confusion. “I mean, I should have left when you called me ‘Stuart’ but I thought 'Oh, he’s hot, I can get over it’, but fucking hell.” He ranted at you as he shoved his clothes back on, one article at a time.

You weren’t sure whether or not to be complimented that he called you hot.

“Get it together, mate. And don’t try to pick someone up the night y'get dumped. Not classy at all.”


	51. 2D SOLO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> self indulgent latex kink garbage

“Just breath in a little more for me, babe.”

The zip to the bodysuit inched up gradually, the thin metal cool against your skin, despite how much you were already sweating underneath the skin tight black latex. Your make-up artist, a chatty girl called Kimberly with bright green hair and purple overalls, had taken it upon herself to assist you into the outfit for the photoshoot, since you were fairly clueless on how to do it yourself, and she was more than happy to lend her assistance. You weren’t sure if this was the protocol for everyone they interviewed, but she seemed to know what she was doing, at the very least.

For a photoshoot outfit, it wasn’t exactly comfortable. Your skin was already sticky from the amount of lube in the suit (essential if you actually wanted to squeeze into it), never mind how sweaty you were getting, barely seconds into it being fully zipped up. You just had to assume that the lovely folks at Novelty were prepared for that (though you did sort of hope they’d be so disgusted with the state you left the fetish suit in, that they’d let you keep it.)

Though you weren’t going to pretend that you hated even a second of this. Even the uncomfortable preparation, even the hands of a stranger down your most sensitive areas. It was exciting in a way it probably shouldn’t have been.

You just hoped they wouldn’t mind if you weren’t as professional as they hoped.

“There we go!” Kimberly said brightly, finally hooking the two clasps at the top of the neck line together and smoothing a reassuring hand down your back. You barely suppressed a shudder as she touched you. “How’s it feel then? Got any discomfort so far or anything?”

“Nah, it er…it feels alright.” You replied, albeit breathlessly, trying to look at yourself in the vanity mirror, before craning your neck back to look at the stuff that you couldn’t see. Mostly if your ass looked any good in skin tight latex.

Though from the way Kimberly admired you as she stepped back, you could only assume that it did. At least you weren’t the only one being professional about this.

Not like you minded.

“Well, it looks lovely.” She smiled to herself, crossing her arms over her chest as she paced around you. “Alright, Mr Pot. Just give us just a couple of minutes while I go talk with the photographer and then we can get the shoot on the way!”

You gave her an eager thumbs up in lieu of an actual response, and she left you to it, light on her feet, shutting the door behind her to hopefully discourage anyone who might have wanted to have a peek.

You let out a steady breath as you looked up again, admiring the way you could even see the vanity mirror lights reflected in the void like black of the suit. Stroking down your front, feeling the smooth glide despite not being able to touch with skin directly.

You couldn’t really be blamed for being excited, not really.

Quickly, you went to get your phone from the plugged in charging cable, thankful that the touchscreen could still register your body heat through the suit’s gloves.

You brought up the messenger app, where you had a groupchat with the rest of your band mates, and quickly snapped a well lit picture in the mirror, adding a witty caption to the picture and waiting for the others to respond.

 

stu no eyes 


	52. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Ooh pet play please!! Maybe 2D on a leash and Murdoc loving how silly and stupid his puppy is :0

He was through, at the very least.

When you asked for it to hurt, he made it hurt. He took delight in making it hurt, in fact.

Even more when you asked for it that way. 

When you asked for all the terrible things he so frequently liked to give you. Justifying his own twisted fantasies because you were so eager for them as well.

He couldn’t possibly be in the wrong.

Thick black leather buckled around your neck, so tight your breathing came out rasped, husky. Never helped that he just pulled your lead tighter, harder, forcing you to stumble even when you were on your hands and knees already, even when there wasn’t any lower you could sink, he always managed to push you further. 

Your name tag dangled from the collar every time you moved, the little heart shaped silver mocking you with ever move you made. 

A ring gag between your teeth reduced your words into whines and groans, reduced your mouth into a gaping, drooling maw that he had access to, could do whatever he wanted with. Not like he would of, didn’t want to pay you that much attention. But the option was there. That’s all that mattered.

He’s forced you on your back, the sole of his boot pressing hard against your chest as he kept pulling the lead, keeping you alert. No bondage, of course, no point in restricting you anymore than his words already did, but somehow, you couldn’t move underneath him.

He smirked down on you, simpering away about how much he loved seeing his “stupid puppy” at his feet. How that was where you looked best, that’s where you belonged. He pressed the toe of his boot underneath your chin, and your drool already coats the leather, making it slick and shiny, practically brand new. 

Chuckling to himself as he pulled at your collar, he asked, almost genuinely, why you would ever want to pretend to be a person, when he already knew you were a disgusting dog, who barely deserved to be allowed on furniture, let alone do all the things you - no, he allowed you to do. 

Because you couldn’t think for yourself after all.

Could only be lead by other people’s instructions. Mostly his.

You could only whimper in reply, because you couldn’t say anything, couldn’t argue a case or even agree with him. 

He’d taken your words from you. Like he’d taken so many things.

His boot receded back down your body, over your stomach, resting barely on your trembling tummy. Smirking to himself. 

“Put your paws up for me.” He growled, softly, a still firm grip on your lead as his free hand moved to cup a bulge in his jeans. “Show me how much of a silly little pup you are, love. Let your master see all of it.”

You obediently put up your hands in the motif of a dog’s paws. Fists slightly clenched, limp wrists, up near your face like an eager little dog, begging for a treat from his master. 

That’s what he wanted to see, wanted to see you as eager for it as he was.  
He grinned, sharp teeth, a dark look in his eyes, and trailed his boot down lower your body, near where your aching dick strained underneath too tight boxer shorts, cooing about how much of a “good boy, smart boy” you were, and you ate up the praise.

Because you always did. Always forgot whatever it was he was doing to you, how damaging it might have been, how much it might have stuck with you for those five minutes (barely that, sometimes) where he said you did well. When you could see he liked it, he liked you.

He still liked you.

He must do.

He wouldn’t do all of this with you if he didn’t.

So you just had to keep going. Keep pushing yourself, keeping doing things that you’d think about for days after and would make you scared to leave your room.

It was for him, for you. 

For a concept of ‘us’ again.

It would be worth it, eventually.

Right?


	53. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Could we get a little drabble with 2doc messing around in the back of a movie theater or somethin? Either that or understall just some cute semi-public shit with murdoc being risky

Despite how much he claimed to love horror movies, you always found a way to get him distracted.

All it took was a tactical hand down the front of the jeans, the barrier between you folded away and your legs tangled with his, to make him forget about the film up on the big screen that he was usually so enamoured with.

You were always in the back row, especially with this cinema where all the seats were lined in militant rows and the slight dip obscured any chance of any of the other film-goers catching sight of what the two of you were up to.

Though there was hardly anyone here, of course, Stuart seeming to only have a taste for the most bizarre of foreign horror films that only showed once a day on the smallest screen in the building. He was enthralled though, watching the cartoonish B-movie gore with wide eyes and a huge grin on his face.

And playing on your phone could only entertain you so far before you wanted something else. A little payback for your oh-so-kind date plans, your money buying the cinema tickets (and the drinks, of course.)

You snaked a coy arm around his shoulders, and he fell against you, curling up close, though the film still had his maximum attention. Only enticing you to keep trying for his attention, resting your free hand on the hem of his jeans, fingers idly playing with his belt.

“Don’t suppose you’re half as horny as I am right now?” You mumbled softly, lips against his ear as you traced his belt buckle. He just let out a soft snort through his nose, eyes still on the screen.

“If it’s because of the film, you’re weirder than I thought.” He whispered back to you, just as a gush of cherry red fake blood messily coated the lead actress as she tried to run away from the serial killer. Or was it a monster? You weren’t sure, you hadn’t been keeping track.

“No, no, trust me. I’ll leave all the wanking to horror movies to you, babe.”

A slight teasing edge to your voice must have irritated him, along with the gracious reminder as to how often you’d caught him jerking himself off to a zombie movie or the particularly grisly murder of an attractive boy in an eighties movie.

You almost wondered if this was doing anything for him, not so subtly cupping his crotch and kneading the heel of your hand down against him. He whispered out harsh protests but you could feel a semi quickly hardening underneath the stiff denim, though that was probably because of you, and not the beheading of a good looking Swedish girl on screen.

“What are you doing?” He whispered (though it was loud for a whisper), wriggling slightly in your grip, like there was anyway that he wasn’t into this.

“Want me t'get you off?” You mumbled, kissing up his cheek, over his jaw, and unzipping his jeans to feel him properly through his boxers. “No-one else here, love. Just me and you.” Groping him even more, wrapping your fingers around his hard length, he seemed to melt under your touch, and he let out a quiet, whimpering moan as he bucked his hips against you.

“W-Wanted t'watch the film though…” He stuttered, biting his lip as you finally touched bare skin, barely suppressing a sigh of sweet relief as you finally started to jerk him off, and you could already sense his attention on the film was quickly dwindling. Thankfully.

“We could see it again. Especially if it’s always this quiet.”


	54. 2DOC + CYBORG 2D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: 2d and cyborg 2 double penetrate trans murdoc

Pinned between two near identical bodies, matched in almost fierce dominance and experience, and constantly thrusting into him hard, fast, like they were trying to one each other up, Murdoc felt closer to heaven than he had ever felt in his life.

Maybe that was because he was living out one of his bigger fantasies, Stuart finally squaring up to him, putting him in his place and stuffing his cunt with that beautiful dick of his AND getting fucked in the ass by the sweet faced twenty year old he had first fell for, so many years ago. You could hardly blame a bloke for suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed by all the attention

Now he just needed to get gangbanged within an inch of his life by Sid Vicious, Paul Simonon and Jello Biafra and he’d be set on living out the sexual fantasy front. 

Then again, maybe the relentless and harsh pounding of both his holes, the distinct lack of air he was getting (between the frantic gasps for breath and Stuart’s hands occasionally around his throat), and the fact he probably wasn’t going to be able to walk after this was making him a bit delirious and close to passing out from sheer exhaustion.

At the very least, he would go out in the way that he wanted to most. 

Getting fucked stupid by his long-term singer and short-term hostage.

Speaking of.

Stuart’s hands were back around his throat, forcing him against the quickly overheating body of his cyborg, thumbs pressing against his windpipe, squeezing tight. Probably not to titillate or for any kind of sexual gratification in Murdoc’s case, and more of a particularly violent outlet of his frustration that he wouldn’t get in trouble for (thanks to Murdoc’s recent reintroduction to masochism). 

With Murdoc pinned still, Stuart could easily thrust in and out of him harder and deeper, ignoring his rasped his breathing was or how his body couldn’t stop shaking underneath him. How Murdoc grabbed for his wrists, like he was trying to wrench him away. And when his thrusting sped up, Cyborg followed, almost immediately, matching the pace and force that it’s duplicate was giving on the other side of it’s master. 

Murdoc groaned, deep and loud, any other possible noises or words caught in his throat as Stuart continued to wring his neck, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth as he tried to catch some (any) breath back. 

An expression like that was enough to spook Stuart out of his abuse, and let go of him, put all of his energy and concentration into fucking him again, and let Murdoc get his breath back, get his words back.

“Sometimes I think y'don’t like doin’ this, mate.” Murdoc chided with a dry, rasped chuckle, voice scratched from the choking. 

Stuart just glared at him, stayed quiet, not even honouring him with any kind of response. 

Not like Murdoc minded, at all. 

He wasn’t that good at dirty talk anyway.


	55. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Could you write a little drabble of angel stu?

Beautiful fragile little thing, he was.

An almost twisted image of what an angel typically looked like, dark empty eyes, cracked teeth, milky white skin littered with scars and mistakes of a life badly led. Skin so light and delicate that it looked like it might have cracked under your hands. On his knees, naked and bare for you, trembling as he looked up at you, standing over him.

Flinching when you touched him, his spread wings fluttering with surprise as you held his chin in a soft, if sturdy grip, watching his pouty pink lips tremble and his empty eyes squeeze shut in pleasure as you stroked over the bristling white feathers with a gentle, curious touch. Your head tilted to the side as you gazed, quizzically, entranced with how his body responded against you.

A gasp eventually passed his lips as you got closer to the base of his wing, where the skin was scarred and raw looking, where the bone originally erupted through his back, however long ago. As you ran your fingers along the raw scar tissue, his gasps fell into whimpers, and he keened closer to you, gripping onto your trouser leg like it was the only thing keeping him from floating away again.

It was almost sinful, seeing him on his knees like that, clinging onto you and whimpering for more of your touches like they were daily prayers. But from sin comes indulgence as you ran your thumb over his lips and his tongue instinctively lapped at you, his wings only fluttering more as you touched him.

He took your thumb into his mouth, sucking it, almost as a means to muffle himself, probably so he didn’t say anything he might have regretted, but that hardly bothered you. You weren’t in the place (nor right mindset) to ask him to abandon his everlasting devotion to God, or join you in a life of whoreish hedonism (not that you would have minded) so you allowed his silence, though only to match it with your own as you watched him, eyes burning with desire that only heightened with the moans he let out with more of your touches (growing rougher with every second).

Imagining how that mouth might have looked somewhere else.

Wondering if maybe he was this sensitive in other places.

Picturing how he might have looked with a collar around his neck, at your feet, for the rest of time.

Or at least, the rest of your life.


	56. MURDOC SOLO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: idk if you're taking requests atm but if you are can you do murdoc fucking himself on a huge dildo (like,, really huge) and cumming lots? ❤️ it can be a drabble i just really want my boi to enjoy himself ,

He keened his hips back, gradually, slowly, giving himself enough time to get used to the monstrous size of the thing. Satan only knew that he was going to need it.

It had clearly been a misorder, that or Stuart wanted to indulge his more masochistic tendencies and ordered something so big it could have probably killed a badger. Well, tough luck, because Murdoc got to the post first, which made anything with not clear enough postage his.

Those were the rules.

But maybe he was regretting his decision a little when he was struggling to even get the head of the dildo inside him. And all the heavy breathing and lube he had stashed under his bed wasn’t helping him along in anyway.

He groaned in irritation, letting his chest fall against the bed and holding the base of the dildo with a firm grip, trying, just trying to get it in. Maybe this position might have worked a little better, loosened him up a little.It took some more trial and error, and a solid minute of trying to hype himself up. 

But as soon as the head of the obscene thing was inside of him, Murdoc was hooked to the blissfully stretched open feeling, moaning to himself as soon as it felt even remotely comfortable, his head falling against the duvet, almost smiling from how good it felt.

Stuart had good taste, he really had to admit.

Murdoc gradually began to press his hips back against the dildo, still keeping his grip on the base firm as he pushed it deeper, in and out. Slowly, of course, he wasn’t an idiot. Just allowing himself to really open around the sex toy, really feel the deep, heavy weight it gave him as he pushed it deeper and deeper.

He wasn’t even embarrassed to admit that he came as soon as the head of it hit his prostate. Just a little miffed that he didn’t get a chance to enjoy it for a little longer.


	57. 2DOC + CYBORG 2D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Could we get something with cyborg d? Craving that robussy 

The dressing room, so finely decorated for a group invested in hedonism and decadence, was quickly growing hazy with his cigarette smoke, a constant streaming plume from his brown lips. Forced you to squint at your reflection in the vanity mirror (surrounded with lights, electric no less) through the thick grey clouds as you dabbed powdered rouge on your cheeks and lined your eyes with black.

It was hardly of problem, of course. If you’d have asked him to put out the cigarette, he would have. He was devoted enough to you that he might have cut down on his addiction, just to make you happy. But you didn’t care enough to ask, and you prefered how you looked through a cloud of ash anyway. You thought it added a few crucial years onto your look, the general aura you exude, important when you were hanging on his arm.

He read the newspaper, flicking through it casually as he tapped his cigarette into a finely cut crystal ashtray, not looking at you at all, but a hand resting possessively on your thigh, occasionally tracing along the edge of your stocking. The situation so domestically dull that you could have pretended that you didn’t feel his half-interested dick press against your hip as you adjusted yourself more in his lap. Elbows resting on the desk of the vanity as you frowned at your reflection, unsatisfied with the colour of the rouge on your cheeks, unsatisfied with the cakey texture of the powder on your skin.

He looked at you in the mirror, one of his eyebrows raising slightly at the irritated face you were pulling at yourself, and he smirked, coy and seductive, folding his paper and setting it down.

“Why so blue, dollface?” He asked, an affectionate twang to his voice as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him. “Ya pull a face like that long enough, it’ll stick. Can’t be havin’ somethin’ like that round here, ya know.”

Hands slipping past your light feathered nightgown (the only beautiful thing in the room, you believed, after him anyway) and tracing over the white babydoll camisole, teasing, inching closer to where he might have been more interested.

You slapped at his wandering hands, playfully, smiling at his boyish mischief and watching the two of you entangled with each other in the vanity. He looked better than you did, at least you thought that.

“Hands where I can see ‘em, Faust.” You warned, teasingly, and his hands quickly slipped from your gown, and he waved them a little just for you to see. Your smile somewhat dropped when you caught your own reflection again, and you pouted, miserably, head resting back in your hands as you counted each and every one of your flaws.

“Shouldn’t have a face that sad on a boy so beautiful.” He said, voice soft and his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them gently, immediately making you relax against him again. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I dunno how y'put up with it.” You mumbled softly, sighing to yourself as he kissed down your neck, breathing in the perfume that you always applied liberally before you saw him. Catching him in your scent, making his head swim. You knew when you felt him harden against you, his half interest suddenly aroused to full.

“Put up with what?” He asked, untying the tie of your gown and slipping it down your shoulders.

“Me. Must be the ugliest guy at this club.” He snorted  with amusement (probably at the tone of your voice) and you stiffened up against him, bristled with irritation. “I’m serious! You could have any guy ya wanted an’…ya chose that one.”

You gestured at yourself in the mirror, still frowning at your reflection, even more when your gown, your beautifully silky sheer pink feathered gown, the first gift he’d gotten you since you started working for him, was pooling down your arms. Showing off your boyishly narrow shoulders, your scarred and freckled biceps, your too sharp collar bone where the skin looked like it was going to puncture it was so thin. At least you could cover up your facial flaws with make-up,your freckles, the shadows on your cheeks and chin. Make yourself as beautiful as the rest of the girls and boys here. But it wasn’t as easy with the rest of your body.

His hands returned against your hips, urging you back against him even more, and your breath got caught in your throat as his body bent against you, pressing his nose in your hair, lips against your neck, tonguing your skin. Gasping softly to yourself, you could only guess that he was taking little to no interest in your woes of your appearance, instead enticed by your bare skin, the soft underwear so easily torn under his touch (strange, since they were gifts from him anyway.)

He stopped those intense touches for just a second, leaving you wanting more, naturally, before he stood up, urging you off his lap and keeping you pinned down against your vanity with the slight force of his hand on the small of your back. Fingers tangled in your gown, you didn’t dare try and move away.

Like you’d have wanted to anyway.

“Maybe we need a second opinion about this, hm?” He asked, his voice as sweet and as thick as honey as he stroked his free hand down your hip. Tugging up your loose silky knickers and giving your ass a appreciative grope. Chuckling at the way your body trembled and the way that you gripped to your vanity and your legs shook. “I’m sure if you got a good look at yourself, you’d change your mind.”

Before you could say anything, he snapped his fingers, alerting the men that constantly stood guard outside your dressing room, and prompting the entrance of your counterpart, a robotic replica of yourself that Murdoc had commissioned and affectionately nicknamed ‘Cyborg’ in order to fill the club’s so called “demand” for you when you weren’t performing, and he refused to have you as wait staff, like the rest of his performers.

Was that possessive over you, he needed two versions just to make ends meet.

Just looking at Cyborg made you jealous. It had everything you could have possibly wanted, looks wise at least. It wasn’t spoiled with gifts the way that you were, but it looked far better than you, no scars no freckles, and didn’t have to spend hours with make-up girls and in uncomfortable clothes, like you did just to look good. Even when it wore a suit and served drinks at the bar or waited patrons in booked rooms and booths, you thought it looked better than you did sometimes.

Maybe that was a good thing though. Being jealous of yourself was hardly a bad thing, after all.

Murdoc gestured at you to Cyborg with two fingers, pointing down, under your vanity table. Words didn’t even need to be spoken between them, it’s mechanical brain always registering everything that it’s master could have wanted.

Much too complicated for you to understand, naturally. And you think that maybe Murdoc liked it that way. Meant you didn’t ask questions, of course.

Cyborg nodded silently, and moved towards you, while Murdoc sat back down and pulled you into his lap again. Hands immediately on your thighs though, pulling your legs apart and giving Cyborg a place to kneel between your legs, before tangling back in your hair and pulling your head back and into a crushingly hard kiss. Sharp teeth nipping and sucking bruises against your lips, tongue practically down your throat, everything to be expected from him.

Everything that you loved.

As soon as you pulled away from him, any words you might have used to oppose to any of this got caught when Cyborg started to rub at your aching dick through the soft, delicate silken knickers that barely contained you in anyway, they were that loose. Words dwindled into whimpers and whines as your body arched against Murdoc’s, hips bucking slightly, only more when Cyborg tugged down your knickers and teased over the head, the dripping slit, the length of it fitting so easily in it’s tight hold, under it’s feather light touch.

“Dunno about you, but I think you look lovely.” Murdoc purred, his hands going up to stroke over your chest through the light camisole, running his thumbs under your pecs, over your nipples, only teasing more as he matched the pace of his ever patient machine. “Either in my lap or on your knees. Whichever is best for you.” Kissing your neck again, up to your cheek. Ruining your makeup. “As long as it’s just for me.”

You couldn’t even try to make any kind of retort back before Cyborg took your dick in it’s mouth, warm and wet despite the mechanical nature of your doppelganger, and immediately took you in deep, almost all the way, throat almost automatically tightening around you.

Your body couldn’t stop trembling as Murdoc kissed over your now bare shoulders, pinching and pulling at your nipples, hands now slipping under the loose fitting camisole.

You couldn’t help but catch your reflection in the mirror, body twisted and trembling against Murdoc’s, Cyborg’s head of identical indigo hair between your thighs. Your expensive lingerie crumpled, knickers pushed to the side for convenience. Make-up smeared from kissing, tears beading in your eyes and making eyeliner, mascara run, leaving streaks in your rouge, your powder.

For some reason, you thought this was probably the best you would look to him.


	58. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: hi uh if you ain't busy or anything and if you feel up to writing it can i just get like a drabble of murdoc waking up stu with like a hard on lowkey just to fuck him and it's like stupid early in the morning

“Stuart. Come on, babe, wake up.”

You didn’t know how he managed it, but somehow he even seemed to look good sleeping. At least he did the rare times the two of you actually slept together, and were there the next morning too.

Thick, dark lashes fanning against his cheeks, blue bed-hair tousled against your pillows and sheets, lips pouty and gently parted and just slightly shiny with drool from the night before. Making his mouth look appealing even as he slept.

His normally unwieldy and gangled body tangled underneath the covers, tangled with yours, almost making him look smaller, chest barely rising and falling enough to remind you he was even still breathing. He almost didn’t look real, sometimes, but maybe that was something you liked so much about him.

Really, you were hardly in the the wrong to get turned on just from looking at him, when you woke up from one of your frequent night terrors and couldn’t get back to sleep. When you got to see him at his most vulnerable, because he trusted you that much.

Head resting in your hands, you just watched him, enthralled with how peaceful he looked, smiling slightly to yourself when his face would screw up or he’d mumble something in his sleep, and try to shift into another position that would let him sleep more comfortably. 

But you got restless. And putting a pillow between your legs or rubbing yourself through your boxers wasn’t cutting it anymore, and you had to wake him up.

You had selfish reasons, maybe, but you were sure that he wasn’t going to mind as soon as you started.

“Come on, baby blue, wake up for me.” You purred, your voice soft as you curled up close to him, pressing kisses down his neck and stroking along the waistline of his boxers. 

“Whazzat?” He mumbled, eyes still closed, trying to nestle deeper into the duvet that had shifted down around his chest, due to all of your activity. Hips keening against your hands slightly, however, as you cupped his half-hard dick, slightly, gauging his interest.

“Wanted t'give you somethin’ nice to wake up to, love.” You said, kissing over his bear shoulders, smirking at the soft whine he let out as he pressed his body back against yours. Gripping at him a little harder through his briefs, listening to the way he sighed and moaned at each of your touches.

“Ahh, that’s nice, Muds…” His voice was still heavy with sleep, and you were sure if you actually looked at him, he’d still have his eyes shut. That was fine enough for you, as long as he was talking. “Mmm, what time is it?”

“Sun’s comin’ up.” You muttered, kissing over his ear and pushing a hand down the front of his briefs, gripping his bare dick and relishing in the gasps he let out, the way his body arched, how he responded to you so nicely even if he was half awake. 

Pressing your own dick against his ass, rutting against him through your boxer shorts as a form of cheap stimuli. More than enough for the time being.

“Wanted you t'be the first beautiful thing I see today though.”


	59. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Could you maybe write about murdoc giving trans!2d head and after he cums holding him, kissing him, and whispering sweet nothings to him?

He twitched restlessly underneath you, one hand clenched in your hair and the other gripping at your duvet sheets. Spasms shaking his body apart, hips bucking. Gasping and whining, his voice raised to a pitch you knew he couldn’t stand, nearly breathless from your relentless attention alone.

You think your name, tumbling from his parted lips in a high whimper, never sounded better. 

You pulled back, just slightly, lapping over his hole and running your thumb over it again, before you pressed your pointer and middle finger deep inside him, focusing your tongue over his clit. Your other hand firmly on his thigh, pinning down his hips, trying to stop him from moving so much, trying to throw you off. 

The kind of attention you knew that he loved, the attention he insisted he hated but you knew he adored and longed for. Over stimulating his clit being one of your favourite things to do to your poor baby boy, just listening to his whimpers, his whines, the way he cried that it was too much, too much, but never told you to stop. 

The way that his hips bucked and he keened for more, the moans he let out when you flicked your tongue over his burning clit as you pounded your fingers in and out of him, pushing him further and further to the edge, pushing him closer to climax with every second of attention that you gave him.

It barely took him any time before he threw his head back in a loud cry, pulled at your hair (painfully, you had to say) and gushed against your face, soaking your mouth and chin with his juices. Only made you want to keep going, lap up every drop of him and start again with your mouth on his dripping cunt and his aching clit.

But he couldn’t take it, not again. And you knew that. You pulled away from him, just for a moment, before you crawled up next to him, kissing his gasping mouth sweetly, pulling him into your arms and lapping at his tongue as you kissed, making him taste himself, everything you tasted.

He groans against your lips, short, bitten nails dug into your shoulders as he kissed you back, hungry for more, more of the attention that he craved so much.

“Pretty boy, aren’t you?” You whispered against his lips, nipping his bottom lip and giving it a playful tug. Hands between his thighs, stroking his oversensitive cunt again, relishing in the way his body arched against yours. “ Even prettier when you’re under me, darling. Where you look best”

“As if I’d wanna be anywhere else.” He replied with a light smile, quickly contorting into a wide eyed gasp as you stroked his erect clit again. Keeping him on his toes.

“Good boy.”


	60. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Stu has his thighs and calves tied with straps so he can't walk properly and either has to be sitting on his knees or crawling on all fours (or Murdoc's personal favorite, face down ass up) Stu also really likes smelling Murdoc's crotch through his jeans because he likes the texture again his cheek and the musk that Murdoc has because of how nasty he is

The stiff latex was already starting to dig into your skin as he tightened every strap, fingers gentle down your trembling body. His own body so close to yours, your back against his bare chest, so close you could feel his breath on your neck. 

Made any sort of discomfort worth it. Made the muggy haze on your brain feel like less of an inconvenience. 

He always smelled like too heavy cigarette smoke, even when he wasn’t smoking. That muggy haze that always clouded your brain. It was so easy to get lost in that scent, his scent, and if you focused on it too much, your head would start to spin and you’d get dizzy. 

So typical of you.

 No wonder everyone called you the dumb one of the group. It was easy to make fun of you when you were so easily wound up.

At least he didn’t mind. At least he liked your slightly air-headed tendencies, and put up with you when you sometimes drifted in and out of your own head. 

He said he thought it was cute once, a cigarette dangling from his smirking, parted lips, his bass on his lap. He teased you about it relentlessly though, called you “dumb” and “silly” with a teasing smile on his face as he would touch you.

 Those sorts of words  would almost feel like compliments when you were in a good mood. Which was most of the time with him.

You’d floated away again, lost on your own train of thought. Only grounding yourself when another strap was fastened around your thigh. Pinning your ankle against it with thick, black latex, and even when you wriggled and pulled against it, it wouldn’t allow you any give.

You watched with idle wonder as he kept fastening those numerous straps, binding you tighter and tighter. Contorting your body in anyway that he pleased, rendering a limb useless if he so chose to. For some reason, you didn’t mind that idea that much. 

Almost got a thrill just watching it, let alone thinking about what his plans might have been.

Sometimes you got a thrill just from being close to him. 

Those were the special nights though. The best nights.


	61. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: 2d gets all dressed up pretty n jacks himself off in the mirror

The intentions had been innocent at first. He needed a break from the atmosphere, the music, the various people who would grind against him, touch him. Needed a bit of air, a break, a chance to actually breath without filling his lungs with body glitter. And maybe a top up on his temporary high.

He pushed through the heaving, doped up crowds and locked himself away in the bathroom, fiddling with the chain around his neck, while eyeing himself up in the floor to ceiling mirror just opposite the sink.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

Leather and mesh always suited him best, blue and black being his preferred colour palette when it came to nights out. Contrasted his pale, almost white skin, made everything about him pop out even more compared to everyone else.

He unscrewed the cap off the ornate looking cross around his chain, and snorted some of the coke he’d managed to score a few days before. Giving himself another heady rush of intensity in his brain, enough that it felt like it was going to melt straight out of his nose if he didn’t watch out.

He always got giggly after a fresh hit, screwing the cap back onto his cross with shaking hands and leaning back against the sink. Giggling away to himself as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, eyes hazy.

“God, I’m beautiful.” He mumbled to himself with an almost sleazy smile, sniffing and wiping away any fleck of powder that he might not have snorted. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing here.” Slowly stroking himself through his tight, leather trousers, biting his lip, watching as he pleasured himself.

Feeling almost voyeuristic when he made slow, stumbling steps closer to the mirror, unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers so he could properly touch himself. Overwhelmed by his own beauty, his own sheer presence.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

Shaking, rasped breath fogging up the scuffed up glass of the panelled mirrored wall, fists clenched tight, his moans and whines drowned out by the pounding music just outside the bathroom door. The concoction of cocaine, adrenaline and freshly released oxytocin in his head, as well as the sheer volume of the music doing wonders in making his brain feel like mush.

He gripped at himself tighter, the jerks of his wrist going slightly faster in an effort to make himself cum even sooner, and he clenched his free hand tightly into his hair just to give himself something to hold onto. His whines getting louder, though still not loud enough to overpower the music, he watched his own face contort in pleasure in the fogged up mirror.

Smiling to himself, eyes half lidded and hazy, thinking there was nothing better than jerking off to his own beauty, his own perfect image.

If no-one else was going to appreciate him, he didn’t see any harm in appreciating himself.


	62. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Lets get some 2doc petplay on, ray :3c

His soft touch trailed down your cheek, underneath your chin. Tipping your face up gently so he could look at you, properly admire you in the new light. A barely there smirk on his lips just creeping up when you shied away from the sweet touch, when you couldn’t make eye contact with him without your face burning under a heavy mask of black latex.

“Pretty little puppy feeling a bit shy today, hm?” He asked, his voice as soft as his supposed touch, which instantly became rougher. Forcing your gaze up, forcing you to look at him.  “That’s unlike you. Normally a right little show off when you can help it, aren’t you, lovely?.” Chuckling to himself, stroking through your hair as if the rough touch wasn’t still present. “Can’t have that now, can we, darling? Not when all master wants to do is see how pretty you look, eh?”

Your muzzle like mask was tight, tight enough that you had difficulty speaking in anything other than whimper and grunts, warping your personhood even more than ankle-to-thigh and wrist-to-shoulder binds were.

Reducing you down to an animal.

Lke he would have wanted it any other way, of course, but he still tuts, shaking his head, like you’re doing something wrong.

“Hm. Do I still need to train you, pup?” He asked, and even his tone sounds like he really is talking to a dog, something lower than him. Looks at you similarly too, though you were doing no favours for yourself by sitting at his feet obediently, hanging on his every word.

Paying no attention to your heavy, dripping dick between your legs, or how much you were already aching from being treated like this. Being forced onto your knees and talked to like an animal.

No wonder you were whimpering so much.

“That a yes?” He asked, looking back as he idly paced away from you, keeping a loose grip on your trailing leash. Barely gave you enough time to respond before he shrugged his shoulders with a huff. “Well. I suppose I’ll have to deal with that then.”

He pulled hard at the leash, hard enough that the sudden-ness to it knocked you off balance and you tumbled down to the floor, your chest colliding with the hard floorboards. Forcing out a very human grunt of surprise as you scrambled to try and get up again, despite your temporary lack of functioning limbs.

Barely had the time to even try and get up before he stepped closer again, resting the sole of his boot against your head and pulling at your leash. Pinning you down as he towered above you. Grinning sadistically when he heard your whimpers.

“You’re just a puppy after all, aren’t you? Barely got a brain in your head at all, do you? You need someone to teach you how to behave, how to make master happy.”

“You need to be taught to be a good boy.”


	63. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> secretary kink lol

“You know if we get caught like this, I could get fired.” You mumbled worriedly, chewing on your bottom lip and looking around the office, in case someone might have been looking in on the two of you without you noticing. If that was even possible

“Who are you goin’ t'get fired by, exactly?” Murdoc asked, his voice almost playful as he locked the door, looking back at you with a characteristic smirk on his face. “I’m the only one with any kind of authority here, aren’t I? I’m the only one who’d be able to fire you.”

“Someone could see. A-An’ report me or something.” You continued, staring down at your shoes, crossing and uncrossing your legs as if you were trying to get comfortable, restlessly toying with the hem of your skirt. “I’ll be the one who gets into trouble, not you.”

You only stopped fiddling with your skirt when Murdoc approached you again, grabbing your wrist and tearing your hand away. His free hand then went up to hold your chin, almost gently, but wrenching your face up so you would look at him properly.

“And why would I let that happen, hm? I said I’d take care of you no matter what, didn’t I? So let me.” His voice as soft as he spoke, stroking up your jawline with his thumb. His lips quirking with a satisfied smile when your cheeks flushed and you tried to lurch away from his touch and hide your face.

“Besides.” He continued, with a light laugh through his nose. “Would hardly be a surprise to anyone even if they did find out. They’ve seen the way you look at me.” Bringing his face closer to yours, his gaze on your parted lips. A recognizable look in his eye that was almost ravenous, like he was waiting to devour you. “And the way I look at you. Should be obvious by this point.”

When he kissed you, it was like every other kiss you had shared before with him. Not one of a coy or delicate approach, nor a kiss with any sort of underlying feeling behind it, anything unsaid. Like Murdoc, the kiss was passionate, bruising, utterly explicit, and so hard that it almost took your breath away. And you couldn’t help but melt against it, groan with delight when his tongue touched yours, and long and ache for even more.

Much like you always seemed to longed and ached for him.

He let go of your hand and your face to plant both hands against the side of his desk, effectively pinning you down with his body, to which you had no problem with. You eagerly wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you, any kind of worry that you might have had about being caught or spotted abandoned like any kind of shame you might have felt to be sleeping with your boss.


	64. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: no offense but can i ask for murdoc sucking off stu (or vice versa, and succ is good succ) right before an interview

It was so spontaneous, such a spur of the moment that someone other than you might have considered it romantic.

Murdoc hurriedly dragging you to the closest bathroom with a barely there excuse for your manager, barely remembering to lock the door behind him before he was pushing you against the wall, his mouth on yours, desperate for a taste of you. Not even explaining himself first, but that wasn’t exactly a surprise for him. 

He never explained himself. Never needed to.

His hands on your hips, pinning you still as he feverishly kissed you, your own hands pressed in his hair, fingers tangled in black, clinging to that fleeting feeling of being wanted, needed. So much so he couldn’t even wait until after the interview to do any of this.

His hands eagerly went to your belt and zip as he undid your jeans, sinking down to his knees and tonguing your half-hard dick through your boxers because he could barely wait another second for it. Just watching him fucking nuzzle against it, press his nose against the cotton and breath you in, looking up at you like he was on his knees in prayer was enough to get your full attention. 

Interview being the last thing on your mind, naturally.

When his mouth was finally on your dick, without the barriers in the way, you thought you saw stars. Gripping his hair harder than you meant to (though judging by the groan he let out against you, he didn’t mind), you bucked deep down his throat. Moaning helplessly at the delicious, hot tightness of it, unable to stop yourself from rhythmically jutting your hips in time with him bobbing his head. Gripping his hair even harder.

You couldn’t really give him any words of encouragement though, let alone any sort of dirty talk, as much as you would have wanted to. Your brain didn’t work that well in the best of situations, let alone when you had Murdoc fucking Niccals on his knees and his hellish mouth like absolute heaven wrapped around your dick. 

You could only really moan and gasp as he took in more and more of you, until he was taking you down to the base of your dick with ease, swallowing against you to make it feel even tighter, and make more of your brain cease to function.

Not exactly romantic, of course, but it never was with the two of you.

Like you would have wanted it any other way though.


	65. 2RUSS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Can you write anything with 2russ (can be smut or nah I don’t care)? There’s like,, no content and I like your writing
> 
> i was gonna make this a kinktober thing but fuck that lol

2D looked like an absolute angel in your lap. That’s all you could think when you looked at him. **  
**

Long, skinny legs wrapped around your waist. His delicate, piano playing fingers interlacing with yours. Those big wide, blank eyes, pouty lips deep red from your feverish kisses that made your mouth water. That sweet little face reacting to every tiny movement you made underneath him, screwing up and flushing red with arousal any time your skin touched his. Any time your touches strayed too far down.

An angel, pure and perfect and nothing but.

But the frail, tortured kind that needed to be looked after and cherished, so gentle and fragile that he might have broken apart if you held him for too long, if you squeezed him too tight.

His skin was too pale and you could see the purples and yellows of fading bruises all over his body that you didn’t ask about and he never explained. At least he was healing, allowing himself to heal despite how much he sometimes struggled with it. His scabs on his wrists, his thighs, had faded from harsh red into a less harsh pink, and they just matched the other white dashes that never had a meaning, any explanation. Looking almost like freckles on his milky white skin.

The bruises would keep coming, but at least the cuts had stopped, that’s all you wanted and that was all he could give you, at least for now.

All you could do was try and comfort him, not touch his bruises for too long, and keep him thinking that he was just as perfect as you thought he was. Maybe he’d start believing you if you told him enough times.

Your arms circled his tiny middle and he relaxed against you, like he always did, his arms around your neck. Smiling at you, grinning with an endearingly sweet blush when you smiled back at him.

Giggling softly when you kissed down his neck, over his collar bones, and your touch would stray to the gently protruding bones of his rib cage, his spine. Moaning when you would brush your thumbs over his nipples. Feeling the cold of his barbel piercings against your fingertips, your lips further up his neck, tracing along his jaw line and feeling him shudder in your arms, feeling his lithe body arch as you touched him.

Hearing as he tried, desperately, to make begs, pleas, any kinds of words, but stumbling the second that you looked at him, when you started paying him any sort of attention. You liked it when he couldn’t make words though, when he stumbled so much that it barely sounded like anything. You liked knowing that you had that effect on him. That you still had that effect on him.

“God, y'feel so lovely, Russ.” He finally managed to say, his voice quivering as you touched him even more. Pinching at his piercings and giving them both an affectionate, teasing little tug that only made him moan and whine our even more. His grip around your neck getting even tighter as he shivered more in your lap. “Feels so good.”

“Only the best for you, ’D.” You crooned softly, kissing up his cheek and over his ear. Daring to bite at his pierced ear lobe and give it a gentle tug, just to hear the sounds he would make from that extra level of attention. His soft little mewls and whimpers. So precious. “Only the best for my baby boy, yeah? Don’t deserve anything less than that.”

You liked seeing the way his pretty little dick would bob and twitch for attention between your bodies, leaking pre-cum and smearing against his stomach, though he would never be that fussed with touching himself, lest it serve as a distraction. Seeking pleasure only from pleasuring you.

But you were the exact same, you just wanted him to feel good out of all of this, and you couldn’t help but stroke that lovely little dick, just to see his reaction sometimes. Just to see how his face would look when he pulled away from a feverish kiss just to whine out your name, loud enough that everyone in the house might have heard it.

Like you cared though. Let them hear.

You wanted them to hear you could drive the front man of fucking Gorillaz wild with just your hands on his dick. You wanted them to hear how your name was the only one falling from his lips when you touched him like this, how he couldn’t think about anyone, anything, other than how much he wanted you, and your dick up his ass as soon as possible. You wanted them to hear how he would forget everyone else the second he was with you.


	66. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Hey so could I request a fuckin uhhhhhh 2D suckin off Murdoc under the table of a fancy restaurant pls and thanks

Really, it was your own mistake going into any of this, thinking that he had good intentions.

He’d come to your room while you were hunched over your computer, a duvet slung over your shoulders, plunged in darkness. Fiddling idly with the tempo and tone of a bass line you’d recorded earlier that day, when you had more energy to be productive. 

Him, dressed to the nines, of course, which already set off alarms in your head, he pulled your headphones out and told you (strictly) to get dressed because he was going to take you out. That the restaurant he reserved a space at was “expensive as shit” and the table was already booked so there was no way you’d be able to wriggle out of any reason to leave the house, though you were sure that wasn’t how table bookings actually worked.

He even picked out a fucking coordinating outfit for you, so the two of you looked like a classy gay couple instead of the human disasters you actually were, since he was such a style guru these days. So good at playing pretend.

But whatever. He didn’t speak in the Uber to the restaurant, just played around on his phone, so clearly this wasn’t a peace offering or an actually nice gesture, but more of a petty way of proving himself as being a better person than you were. Because he could pretend and hide his actual feelings instead of be vocal like you were.

Like you didn’t already fucking know that.

He tipped the Uber driver and you followed him into the restaurant because he wouldn’t let you stop for a fag first. 

Expensive as shit was definitely an appropriate way of describing the place, but you didn’t say anything as he confirmed your reservation with the maître d’, who flashed the two of you a fake smile and showed you to your table. Far off from some of the fancier clientele, you would guess, but not secluded enough for your tastes, by far. Still close enough where someone could eavesdrop if they really wanted to.

He handed the two of you a wine list each, asking politely if you would need some time to “get acquainted” with their selection before he took the first order of the night. Stuart spoke for you before you even had the chance to even look at it, and ordered something that you wouldn’t ever remember the name of, though his selection earned a respectful nod from the maître d’. Plucking the menu from your hands before leaving the two of you in a swollen silence.

Hands crossed in your lap, shirt too tight and trousers not nearly worn in enough. 

He couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Though the expression on his face was telling that this probably wasn’t a good thing.

“Didn’t know you did wine now.” You said with a weak smile, in a poor attempt to stir up some kind of a conversation. “The Stuart I remember was a ‘lager-till-I-die’ kinda lad.”

“Didn’t think you’d remember that kind of thing.” He replied, his voice somewhat deadpan as he sat back in his chair. “Don’t really remember much of anything else.”

Any chance of any sort of lighthearted conversation or banter was never on the table then. But maybe you were a slightly better person that you were before. Since the old Murdoc would have probably flipped the table and stormed out at a remark like that. 

Though you sort of wish you had the courage to do something like that again. Instead of just glaring at him but taking it like he wanted you to do.

Because you owed him something now.

Stuart just smirked to himself, satisfied as he leaned forward in his chair again, arms resting on the table, all too casually for a restaurant this fancy, as he looked at you, eyes half lidded. Like he was planning something that wouldn’t turn out all that well for you.

A mischievous glint in his eye that you didn’t instantly notice, but immediately recognised when you felt the tip of his designer dress shoe slowly feel around your trouser leg. Along the cuff first, something that might have been deemed a mistake if he hadn’t gone further up your calf, along your thigh, knowing exactly what he was doing and what he was doing to you as a result. 

Before pressing down, quite firmly, on the front of your trousers where interest was a certainly stirring underneath the sudden hard (and somewhat painful) pressure of the sole of his shoe.

You had to grip the table to not let out any sounds of shock or pain, grimacing while your hips involuntarily jutted at the sudden attention. Trying desperately hard not to bring any kind of attention to yourself, and desperate for seclusion even more than you had before.

Stuart just raised an eyebrow in amusement when you looked at him, demanding an explanation. As if he was waiting for you to stop it, to tell him off, put him back in his place in the way you had done so many times before tonight.

But you weren’t that person anymore. You promised yourself you wouldn’t be.

So you said nothing. Just keened your hips more against him, almost like you were grateful for his attention, and you were going to show him you were grateful because you couldn’t say it.

Even if you were in a public place. Even if there was a risk someone saw.

You didn’t know how he was able to maintain a straight face when the maître d’ came back to your table with the wine that he’d picked out for you. Even managing to make small talk about the 'special occasion’ you were celebrating (a flat out lie, but you weren’t paying all that much attention) as he poured the two of you a glass each, all while Stuart momentarily pulled back, before rubbing his now shoe-less and stocking clad (because yes, you could tell socks from stockings) foot against your aching hard dick. That was only getting harder since the pain element had been removed.. 

You just had to thank Satan that the bloke seemed to have no interest in talking to you, because you were sure there was no chance of you making any sort of sense while Stuart did all of this.

The maître d’ excused himself politely, saying that your waiter would be round shortly with your menus, and you’d be able to order from there. All you could do was nod as he excused himself.

Stuart just smiled, as angelic as ever, as he took a sip from his wine glass. You could tell the little crinkle in his face meant he didn’t care for the taste much, so at least he hadn’t changed in that respect. 

The red stained his lips.

You didn’t even try and ask for an explanation, knowing there was no chance he’d give you one that wasn’t as cryptic as he was being tonight. Stunned into silence, all you could do was grip the tablecloth and clench your jaw, trying to keep yourself from making any sort of noise of pleasure or pain, or let your facial expression give anything away.

“Do you think you could order like this?” Stuart asked, resting his chin in his hands, his fingers idly playing with his hair. “Or would you just sound as dumb as you look right now?” Grinning spitefully at the way your face instantly flushed. Still running his slightly curled toes along the bulge in your trousers. “Could you try? For me? If you manage it, maybe I’ll suck you off when we get home.”

“Stuart-” You started, voice almost desperate.

“Or in the Uber back.” He interrupted, twirling a strand of his hair around his finger. “Fuck it, if you do a good job at it, I’ll suck you off in the bathroom.”

“People can hear you.” You said, voice slightly firm and low, glaring at him, but hoping to fucking Hell that he didn’t stop.

“So?” He asked, head tilted to the side. “Let them hear me. When has that ever bothered you before?” Picking up his glass again, swirling it casually. “If you cared that much, tell me to stop. You know I would.” Glaring at you over the rim as he took a calculated sip. His professionalism somewhat ruined by the grimace he immediately pulled at the taste. “Tell me to stop, Murdoc.”

Silent again.

His smirk almost made the silence feel like an admission of defeat. But he didn’t stop, regardless what the energy behind this entire scene suddenly was. 

“Order for me.” He said, his tone almost playful, after a few moments of deafening quiet. “You can choose anything you want. Just make sure you do it right.”

“You’re acting like a brat.” You growled, though any sort of intimidation tactic you could have used was slightly counteracted by your desperate hips bucking at every touch he gave you.

“If you hate it so much, you could punish me when we get home too.” He replied, smiling because he knew how loud he was being and he knew how much it was putting you on edge. “Bend me over and spank me, maybe. That was always your favourite, wasn’t it?”

Before you could say anything else, the waitress to replace the maître d’ came to your table, a personality much more bubbly than her superior, putting a menu down in front of you and practically demanding a order from you. 

As if you could even think in a state like this.

“Oh, don’t worry, my partner knows what I like.” Stuart assured the waitress, shutting his menu and looking to you again, grinning like the Devil Himself. 

“So, Murdoc. What’re you thinking?”


	67. 2DOC + MPP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Muds gets his boy a pretty pink collar with a bow and a little tag that says 666 on it so that everyone watching Stuart camming knows who he belongs to
> 
> MOON PRISM POWER

(20:33) twodee: i’m getting ready for a stream later, wanna call while i get ready? ;)  
(20:35) MN666: Depends what you’re in the mood for.  
(20:36) twodee: just a chat you perv :P  
(20:39) twodee: but i did get something in the post this morning you might want to seeeee~  
(20:41) MN666: Give me five minutes then <3  
(20:42) twodee: YAY! <3333

-

(20:51) [twodee] is calling you! [Answer] [Ignore]  
Connecting…

-

He was still in awe of it sometimes. 

Being given such a private and personal look into Stuart’s life. It hadn’t taken long for what had been a privilege to become the wonderfully domestic in Murdoc’s life, but it still made him feel special, in a funny kind of way. 

Just watching him pick out his clothes, put on make-up, hum or sing along to his favourite songs as they played on his computer, shoulders playfully bobbing as he caked blush on his cheeks, seemingly clueless in how utterly enamoured Murdoc was with him.

Though Murdoc knew that he was the furthest thing from clueless, that he knew exactly what he was doing, loved the attention, even when it was just from one person.

Artfully outlining his eyes with black and blue, his tongue peeking between his lips in concentration as he looked into his compact. Reminding him so much of the first night they technically spent together.

Making Murdoc chuckle just thinking about it.

“What are your plans for the night then?” Murdoc asked, leaning an elbow on his desk and trying not to just stare at his computer screen. Pretending to be occupied with something (like maybe the case studies he was putting off) so he didn’t seem as hopelessly love struck as he actually was. “Same old set up?”

“Yeah, I think so. Maybe some kinkier requests if I get tipped enough.” Stuart mumbled, setting down his eye pencil and picking up a pair of tweezers. 

“And when you say kinky, you mean the same shit you do every stream, just to a different name.”

“You got it.” Stuart replied with a grin as he idly cleaned the mirror of his compact. “I’ve had a couple of weirdos in the chat lately though. Talkin’ some weird shit, and not even fun weird.”

“Anything I need to be worried about?” A slight raise of his eyebrow made Stuart laugh.

“Nah, nothin’ I can’t sort out myself.” Stuart insisted, a warm smile still playing on his lips (making Murdoc’s heart melt) as he plucked away with precision that would have been admired. “Just like…bit needlessly graphic, ya know. Like, even for me. Very like ‘I’m gonna fuck you like this and like this’, shit like that.” His brow furrowed slightly and he frowned, setting down his tweezers. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before, just haven’t seen it in a while.” Smudging out his eyeliner a little more. “Normally people like that aren’t so vocal.”

Now Murdoc generally didn’t like to think of himself as possessive. It wasn’t a good trait to have in the slightest, especially when your boyfriend was a semi-famous camboy and got pervy, graphic comments almost constantly. Being possessive meant that Murdoc MUST have seen Stuart as…well, his. And he wasn’t. And he was fine with that. 

And fuck, if Stuart wasn’t bothered by the comments, than there was no way Murdoc could justify being bothered by it, without sounding like some weirdo, no better than the creeps who left shit like that in the first place. 

So he wasn’t. He wasn’t bothered at all. 

Not at all.

Well.

Maybe he was a bit bothered by it. 

Not nearly enough to vocalise it, or make it Stuart’s problem, no no no, absolutely not.

But bothered enough that the possessive little knot deep down inside of him seemed to swell even more when he heard about things like this, and he would find himself buying more “practical” things for Stuart. 

Pretty things. 

Work appropriate things. 

So everyone would know who he really belonged to, even if they wouldn’t recognise it.

“Well.” Murdoc said, his voice low, which immediately grabbed Stuart’s attention. “Maybe your surprise might keep a few of those comments at bay, eh?” Smirking softly to himself when Stuart’s cheeks flushed, and he hurried up his bed quickly to grab the wrapped package from his bedside table, without being told to.

“If this is a body part of one of my viewers, I’m going to be very upset.” Stuart smiled to himself, eagerly ripping through the plastic and trying to fight off the flush in his cheeks. He shook the back upside down for a moment, before the heavy object fell out onto his bed.

The collar that Stuart held in his hands had to have been one of Murdoc’s more indulgent gifts, personalised to an almost ridiculous degree, in ways that only the two of them would notice. 

But like that mattered. They were the only ones who needed to notice, really.

The vinyl catching his eye first. A glittering holographic rainbow, of course, over black padded leather so it would have been comfortable for him, if he wanted to wear it longer than he should. Studded with short, blunt spikes and a black lace trim kept a punky edge to the collar that Murdoc was so fond on, that Stuart rarely indulged in. The closure clasp tailored specifically with Stuart’s measurements in mind, so no-one else would be able to wear it other than him.

So it would only belong to the two of them.

What pulled it all together though was the tag, swinging to and fro as Stuart admired the collar. A glittering silver heart that hung from the O-ring, the engraving barely visible in the bright, studio level light, or over the poor quality of Murdoc’s computer screen. 

But visible for Stuart. And that was all that mattered, at least right now.

666.

Subtle, but not subtle enough. 

“This way, you’ll always be mine. And maybe those fans of yours might take the hint, hm?”

Stuart looked up at his camera, eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed and perfect as ever. Stroking finger tips over the studs, the lace.

“You want me to wear it while I cam tonight?” He asked, his voice almost shy but a coy smile playing on his lips. Playing with the tag, biting his lip, like he had a secret that only they knew about.

“I do. I want that very much.”


	68. 2DOC + MPP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: MPP 2D would definitely write 666 and other dirty things in sharpie or lipstick on his chest and the inside of his thighs for Murdoc while he streams
> 
> MOON PRISM POWER

**doped_up91: sent a £20 tip! Thank you for your support! ^_^**

**doped_up91: hey 2D could u ummm write on yourself like with sharpie or marker or smthin its kind  of a weird kink of mine ^^;  
doped_up91: u can ignore this is u want i just wanna see how it looks lmao**

-

“Is it bad that I can’t even write this properly? Seriously, try writing something in a mirror, it’s just like that!”

Giggling away, sounding as innocent as ever, as he looked down at himself on his own screen, brow furrowed and focused. With an uncapped, red marker pen in his hand, he wrote slow, deliberate lines on his forehead, tongue stuck out in endearingly earnest concentration, since it must have been as hard as he was saying it was. 

Lines turning to letters turning to words, quickly smearing on his already sweaty skin.

D-U-M-B   
S-L-U-T

“Actually maybe it would have looked better a bit backwards. Backwards just like me” He said, smiling at himself as he recapped the pen, satisfied. “Then I would have looked as much of dumb slut as I actually am, huh?”

Every reward tier for his stream tonight had already been reached. He had stripped down to a latex bralette, kicked away his panties, gotten off a few times and fucked himself only using a new plug that he opened on camera, to the excitement of his viewers. So for now, while dripping cum still dried on his chest and his hole was comfortably plugged up for the evening, he indulged some more faithful viewers who had stuck around after the fun stuff was over in fulfilling some requests that piqued his interest.

“Do I look cute like this?” He asked the chat idly, pushing the hair out of his face, as if he, or anyone else, cared what his after orgasm glow looked like. Sticking his tongue out provocatively and flashing a cutesy peace sign, to which the chat exploded in loud agreement, only stroking his ego more. “Give me some more things to write, this is fun.”

The chatbox and its users naturally had a plethora of wonderful suggestions that 2D took great delight in writing all over himself.

“Pretty boy.”

“Cock whore.”

“Take tally marks of how many dicks you’ve sucked, if you can even count to a number that big.”

“Free to use, since you’re always asking for it so much.”

“Cum dumpster.”

“Whore.”

“Slut.”

“Cunt.”

Deliciously vile words trailing down his neck, over his shoulders, across his stomach. Tally marks criss-crossed over his chest, so many that even he lost count of how many he’d drawn (perhaps stretching the truth a little, but he didn’t keep count of things like that). Ink staining his finger tips and smearing his skin when he struggled to write all the suggestions.

Acting like the dumb slut that he really was.

Spreading his legs, he wrote more words on the inside of his thighs, arrows pointing at his half-erect dick, stirring with excitement already. More arrows pointing down towards his plugged up hole, offering it to anyone who might have wanted it. All while giggling to himself with delight, obviously having as much fun with it as the rest of the chat was.

Adding one personal touch that no-one had suggested though.

A large “666” along his lower abdomen, signed with a lovingly drawn heart that trailed down his v-line.

Keeping quiet when the occasional person would question him about it in the chat, without being drowned out by the relentless positivity and vocal encouragement for more.

Just as an afterthought.

So everyone knew, at least subconsciously, that he already belonged to someone

Just in the hopes that maybe someone special might have been watching.

**hailsatan666: <3**


	69. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: cosplay/roleplay? Maybe 2D wants to roleplay a sexy scenario based on an anime or something, and Murdoc tries his best to go along with it but he doesn't know jack shit about the anime so he keeps messing up and 2D ends up giggling and utterly charmed (but also really fucking turned on)
> 
> MOON PRISM POWER

“I don’t know why we’re doing this.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! You just have to get into it a bit more!”

Stuart couldn’t help but giggle helplessly at the confused look on Murdoc’s face over the webcam, seemingly not bothered at all by the complete lack of effort the older man was putting into their play.  

He had innocently instigated a roleplay scenario for their nightly personal camming session, something more indulgent for himself, admittedly. Even went through the trouble of dressing up specially for the occasion on camera, giving Murdoc his own private show. And it seemed to be working, even if Murdoc wouldn’t understand half of the references he was planning on making, he could at the very least get a good look at him in an obscenely short skirt and thigh high stockings.

Something he was obviously already appreciating, just from the expression on his face.

“Okay, okay, since you don’t know shit all about Sailor Moon, how about something a bit more vague.” Stuart suggested, clasping his gloved hands together, after a few moments of thinking. “I mean, you know the basic concept of magical girl stuff, right?”

“Sort of.” Murdoc replied gruffly, alerted out of his staring and crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. Exuding a disinterested aura that Stuart paid absolutely no attention to.

“I can work with sort of.” He said with a smile. “Alright. So I’m a…soldier, and I’ve been sent on a mission with my…er, squad to rescue a kidnapped alien princess.” He quickly knelt up on his bed and grabbed for one of his prop wands off the wall, wielding it like a weapon. “We’re a special class of super soldiers, and we would give our lives to protect our princess, and you’re the king of an opposing planet who wants to take us over.” He continued, swirling his wand like a baton for emphasis, and striking a generic fighting pose.

“This sounds like the plot of a video game.” Murdoc interrupted with a wry smirk.

“Shut up, you have to play along.” Stuart scolded with an annoyed pout, which only made Murdoc smile more, but he nodded anyway, happy to indulge Stuart some more. “Okay, so… we’ve infiltrated your palace without any problem, but I got separated from the rest of my squad, trying to look for the princess myself, cus I’m the hot headed one of the group.” He continued, smiling to himself. “I fight back with all of my might, and I nearly manage the whole mission by myself, but I quickly find myself overwhelmed by the number of your guards, and I am knocked unconscious when I try to fight back.” He drops the wand into his lap to emphasise his point. “When my eyes open again, I’ve been captured and taken away. I’m bound in your dungeon and you’re looking at me. What do you do?”

“What am I again?” Murdoc asked, clearly still distracted by how short his skirt was, making Stuart groan with irritation.

“You’re an evil king and you’ve taken my princess hostage. We,” He said, indicating at himself and then at the camera. “Are enemies. You want to take over my planet and enslave my people.”

“Do you really think I’d be that villainous?” Raising his eyebrow, a coy smirk playing on his lips. “Or is that something for you?”

“It’s…something for me.” Stuart admitted, blushing furiously with an annoyed look that made Murdoc bark out a wonderfully characteristic laugh. “Just get on with it.”

“Okay, okay.” He started, calming himself down. “So, I have you in my dungeon and…” Murdoc paused, rubbing his stubbly chin. “I was waiting for you to wake up. I came down to the dungeon to interrogate you, but I couldn’t help but admire you when you looked so peaceful. How’s that?”

“Yeah, that’s really good.” Stuart said with an eager grin. “Oh, am I gagged?”

“No, no, just chained to the stone wall. I like hearing you talk back to me.”

“How about when I call you names, and demand for you to release me, or my squad will dismantle your entire kingdom from the inside out?” Leaning forward with a determined smile.

“I just laugh at you, and say how much I love your spirit.” Murdoc continued with a lazy grin, resting his head in his hand. “Tell you how much I’m going to enjoy crushing it.”

Stuart’s cheeks flushed bright red as Murdoc spoke, and he leant back, shifted slightly in his spot. Murdoc knew him well enough that he was already starting to get a little excited from what he was saying, only encouraging him to say even more to get under Stuart’s skin.

Take advantage of him while he was so susceptible.

At least that’s how Stuart preferred to see it.

“You’re not crushed just yet though. You still have so much energy. You pull at your chains, and demand to know where your princess is, which only makes me laugh more.” He added a little chuckle between his words just to tease him some more. “I take great pleasure in telling you that I had never kidnapped the princess to begin with, and this was all just a plot to have you all to myself.” Stuart’s eyes widened slightly, and he could see the immense amount of satisfaction his surprise gave Murdoc. “Why would I ever be interested in a princess when I could have you?”

“I…I blush but look away.” Stuart stuttered out eventually, trying to be subtle as he kneaded himself through his skirt, though he knew Murdoc could see. “I-I’m thankful that my princess is safe, and…and I tell you that my squad are still in your palace, and are probably looking for me as we speak.”

“I move closer, and hold your chin, forcing you to look me in the eye.” Moving closer to his own computer, deliciously cryptic about his own arousal in the low light of his bedroom. Even without the action itself, Stuart couldn’t help but look back at his camera. “Your squad already know the princess isn’t here and have left my palace without you. They don’t even care that they left you behind. You don’t mean anything to them.” Relishing in the soft sigh Stuart let out, the rustle of bunched of fabric. “Which means you belong to me now, and I can do whatever I want with you.

“Why should I believe that?” Stuart asked, looking at his camera with half lidded eyes, parted lips. Already looking to die for, from the way Murdoc looked at him. Dick throbbing between his legs, under his skirt.

“Because you know it’s true.”

Sometimes things like this were generally unspoken between the two of them, so Stuart didn’t even need to ask first before he pushed up the front of his pleated skirt and slowly started to stroke his dick through his silky panties.

Teasing himself and looking so perfect as he did it as well.

Though it seemed that he didn’t have nearly enough patience to do anything more than that. Running a gloved thumb over his already dripping slit, he slowly pulled his panties down his slender legs to reveal a cock ring stretch firmly around the base of his dick. Presenting himself with spread legs and a blissed out smile on his face.

Just showing him that Murdoc really did have him under his control, even when they were hundreds of miles apart.

Murdoc let out a barely there groan, licking his lips hungrily as he watched Stuart stroke himself, still so cryptic. Though his hands were offscreen and he was getting more agitated with every second they spoke.

“I start to stroke up your thighs, running my thumb over the line of your stocking and putting a hand up your skirt.” He started, through soft and heavy breaths. Preoccupied. “I can feel you shiver underneath me, but you don’t want it to stop, I know that without you even telling me. Even your own body is going against you.”

“It’s embarrassing…” Stuart interrupted, biting his lip.

“I can see. Imagine if your squad, your princess, if they knew you were falling apart under the hands of your enemy.” Stuart couldn’t help but whimper at the very idea of it. “I bring my face close to yours and listen to your stuttered breathing, your little gasps of pleasure. You want to hide how turned on you are, but you can’t hide anything from me.”

“I pull at my chains, but my hips jut when I feel your fingers against my panties.” Stuart accentuates his response by bucking his own hips into his tight grip, still breathing heavy as he jerks himself off. “I’m already soaking through them. I’ve imagined this so many times that I’m scared all of this is fake, but I’m scared that it’s real too.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he grips tighter. “I hate how much that gets me off.”

“I drag your panties to the side and run a finger over your dripping cunt, feeling just how wet you are.” Trying to maintain a sense of superiority by not touching himself, though just watching Stuart do it, moaning and whimpering like a pornstar was making him care less and less with every second. “Like I’ve read your mind, I ask if you’ve thought about this before, if that’s why you’re so wet barely seconds in.”

“I-I stay silent, before you press a finger inside of me, inside my hot cunt, then I whimper that yes, I have thought about it. This exact situation.” Stuart’s voice trembled nearly as much as his body.

Murdoc couldn’t help but smirk to himself as he leant back in his computer chair, finally showing himself off as he unbuttoned his jeans and stroked the mouth watering bulge in his boxers. Knowing that Stuart was probably telling him the truth, even out of the context of the roleplay.

“I grin against your neck as I finger fuck you. Harder and faster, so much that it feels like you can’t handle it.” Breathing heavier. “Did you touch yourself when you thought of me? When you imagined me doing all of these things to you?”

Stuart could only nod furiously, making Murdoc let out a laugh through his nose.

“You nod, and that excites me so much that I need to bite your neck, bruise your pristine white skin with all my marks, so even if anyone did find you, they’d know you were mine.” Licking his lips, just thinking about it. “I love the way your skin bruises so easily. You’d look so much prettier covered in all my marks.”

“Your bite only excites me further, and my knees feel weak as I get even more aroused.” Stuart’s words slur into each other as he kept touching himself. His dick so hard, it looked almost painful, but not even considering loosening the cock ring even slightly before he got permission first. “I want your cock so badly already, that I can barely think about anything else.

“That’s how I want you though, pet.” Murdoc said, his voice soft, quiet, as if Stuart was right there with him. “So brainwashed by your own arousal that you wouldn’t even consider a purpose other than being fucked so hard you can’t even stand.”

“Fuck.”

Stuart couldn’t help but whimper helplessly as he looked up at his camera, his gloved fingers stroking over the painfully tight cock ring, waiting to be told that he could take it off. But Murdoc just shook his head, fulfilling any kind of sadistic intent he might have had just by looking at Stuart’s look of defeat.

“No, no, not yet.” Murdoc insisted, shaking his head and smirking at his pet’s whimpers. “Not like you would need to stand anyway. If you were truly going to be my slave, I’d keep you on your knees beside me all day. Or chained to my bed, so I could have you whenever I wanted you.” Looking up at his camera again. “Did I tell you to stop touching yourself?”

“No-”

“Master. You didn’t tell me to stop.” Murdoc interrupted, speaking for him before he could get the chance to. “So don’t stop until I tell you to stop.”

He quickly did as he was told, though his pace was somewhat slower and looser when he was already so wound up. Not like Murdoc really cared though. He could have kept doing this all day, if he wasn’t so desperately close to climax himself.

“I’d keep you naked too.” Murdoc continued, gripping himself a little tighter and allowing his hips to buck into his grip. “A body as pretty as your’s shouldn’t ever be covered up, after all. And you wouldn’t need to impress anyone either, no-one would think of touching you when they all know you belong to me.” Unable to prevent a long, shuddering moan when he was this wound up. When Stuart looked so good.

“Would you take care of me, master?” He asked, the innocence in his voice played up. His hand shoved up the front of his shirt, playing with his nipple piercings, teasing himself even more.

“Oh, I’d take such good care of you, pet.” He emphasized with a sharp jut of his hips, the ring through his slit bobbing as he moved. “You’re my little play thing after all, aren’t you? And I took very good care of my things.”

Stuart let out a strangled whine as soon as Murdoc stopped speaking, eyes squeezed shut, his fingers clenched and his body shaking so much, it felt like he was going to fall apart.  Biting his lip so hard that it was sure to bruise, though Murdoc just looked at him like he was the most delectable thing he had ever seen. Ravenous, like a predator.

Almost villainous, in fact.

“Fuck, Murdoc.” Stuart whined, his syllables drawn out in desperation. “I can’t take much more of this. Feels like I’m gonna die.”

“Do you need something more, pet?” Murdoc asked, his tone almost casual if he didn’t look so fucking desperate for it himself.

“Yes, yes please.”

“Beg for it then.” He continued with an evil grin, drinking in Stuart’s whimpering moans. “Beg to cum. Tell me you’re a brainless little slut who can’t think of anything other than what gets their cunt wet.” Squeezing himself even tighter, tongue almost slack, he was that turned on.

“You get my cunt wet, master, please.” Tears were quickly starting to bead in his eyes, both from his good it felt, and how painful it was to hold on for so long. “Please let me cum.”

“Do you know how easily I could leave you?” Breathing heavy. “Chained up, pre-cum dripping down your thighs, desperate for something you’ll never be given.”

He couldn’t help but let out a half choked sob at the very idea of Murdoc’s threat, trying to still his hand as much as possible without being told off again.

This was absolute torture, but in the most delicious way possible.

“Maybe that’ll drive you crazy quicker than fucking your brains out, eh?” Murdoc added with a dark chuckle, his head lolled back against his chair, hips still gutting.

“I’m already fucking crazy!” Stuart near shouted, feeling the first of his tears stream down his cheeks. Suddenly feeling the throb in his dick, the painful emptiness of his hole.

“Poor baby.” Murdoc cooed, leaning closer to his computer again, taking a good look at the image of Stuart on his screen. “I would have thought a soldier as strong as you would be more resilient. So much more difficult to break. But here you are, crumbling apart already.”

“I’ll do anything, master, anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, just please!” Voice raised again.

“Go on then, since you can’t control yourself. Cum for me.”

Stuart only had to slightly loosen the cock ring before his climax washed over him, spotting his vision with a flurry of white, and crying out so loud that he almost didn’t sound like himself for a second. Staining his bedsheets, his skirt with spurts of cum that he pumped out of himself, as his body shook with desperate breaths and near sobs of pleasure.

He could only assume that Murdoc must have hit that wall too, from the obscene sounds from his laptop and the look of absolute exhaustion that he gave his computer the second Stuart was able to open his eyes again.

“How was that?” Stuart asked, cringing slightly at how hoarse his voice was, and how heavy his skirt suddenly felt.

“Don’t think I’m gonna be able to watch Sailor Moon with Noodle again after that.”


	70. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one doesn't have a prompt and my chest is starting to hurt but i'm almost done uploading shit

He giggles to himself as he strips in the low light of your winnebago, high as a kite, his skinny body swaying to the low volume music that played over the radio.   
Almost like he’s playing out a kind of strip tease. 

You watch as he takes his clothes off, not even trying to hide the clear lustful hunger in your eyes as you look at him. You try and finish up the burning joint as a means of distracting yourself, but the way he smiles when he looks at you, stupidly turned on and not even embarrassed about it, makes it very difficult.

“You look sexy as hell.” He says, still giggling like a school boy as he tugs down his jeans. “Bet you know that already though, eh?” Struggling to pull them off over his shoes, his normally annoying incompetence makes you smile for some reason. “Don’t need t'tell ya.”

You smirk, bringing the joint to your lips again, taking a long drag on it. Though when Stuart starts to approach you, his pale skin almost white despite the dark, the rush that seeing his naked body gives you is more intoxicating than any drug will.

He sits in your lap without even being asked, arms wrapped around your neck and his face inches away from yours. 

You exhale smoke into his face, and he sighs so happily that you can’t help but kiss him, hard enough that it takes even your breath away. 

His tongue against yours tastes like smoke, he smells of the same, and you’re absolutely addicted to it. When you practically push your tongue down his throat, he groans helplessly, digging his bitten nails into your back and rutting against you in your lap. 

You can only imagine how wet he already is. Knowing that he might have been all evening makes your dick twinge under your jeans.

You’re overcome with the desire to push him back against your bed. Straddling his bucking hips as you drag your own shirt off, taking one last drag from the joint before you crush it against your bedside, flicking the stub away to deal with later. He stares at you dumbfounded and it makes you chuckle as you exhale your final breath of smoke.

“What’s that look for, hm?” You ask him, your voice gravelly because of the smoke but he can’t get enough of it. “Y'already hard for me?" 

He nods helplessly, whimpering as you smirk with pointed teeth, running a finger down his trembling body. Stopping to stroke over every single one of the bruises that always marked his delicate porcelain skin, every scratch that he seemed to cultivate between each evening rendezvous the two of you had.

You like adding your own additions to his collection of bruises. 

A new song starts on the radio, light drums and vocals, as you descend on him, kissing up his heaving chest, listening to each moan and whine his pretty, parted lips let out. 

You let a hand idly stroke up his thighs, innocently stroking up the underside, over each purpling bruise and faded scar that marks his skin. Kissing up his jaw, drinking in every whimper of your name, ever beg and please for "more, please, don’t tease me, oh god.”

“All of these bruises, Dents. Really have t'keep a closer eye on you, hm?” You whisper against his skin, chuckling to yourself as he writhes against you, hips bucking helplessly. You’re so fragile, babe. So breakable.“

You run your thumb over his throbbing cliterous, relishing in the almost pained whines he lets out when you touch him, when you tease him so cruelly, poking and prodding at all of his most sensitive spaces just to get a reaction out of him. 

"I want to break you.” You growl, running your tongue up his burning cheek and when you press two fingers deep inside him, he positively howls.

“Murdoc.” He gasps, eyes squeezed shut, biting his lip hard enough to bruise. It’s delicious to see. “Please.”

He’s so fucking beautiful like this. His head tipping back against your pillows, his body rigid and shaking uncontrollably. His fingers curled in your sheets as he pants and groans so beautifully you almost can’t stand it.

“Break me.”


	71. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Kitten play 2d?
> 
> yeah this is mostly 2doc ennit

“Fuck me. Please.” You purr in his ear, rutting your hips against his thigh. 

The lace front of the panties do absolutely nothing to hide just how hard your dick is. You’re not sure if you care that much, because he certainly doesn’t.

His hands travel down your body slowly before he gropes your ass roughly, enough that it makes you gasp and writhe in his lap. When your body shakes, it makes the delicate silver bell on your leather collar jingle incessantly, which only amuses him more when he chuckles roughly.

“Murdoc, please-”

“Ah ah.” He says softly, interrupting you and keeping you quiet. “You’re gonna need to do a better job than that to convince me, kitten.” He’s teasing you now, a shit eating smirk on his face as he continues to stroke up and down your back.

Petting you.

You don’t know how he developed such good self control, because you can feel him through his jeans, he’s as hard as you are. Must have liked to pace himself when it came to sex. That’s the only way you could explain it at least. 

“How about you tell me…” He starts, drawling out his words slightly as his touch goes up to stroke through your hair. Over the headband that held surprisingly realistic cat eats in place for the sake of the play. “Exactly what you want me t'do to you, hm?" 

His touch drifts down to stroke a spot behind your ear that he knew was sensitive, and you obediently keen into his touch. Moaning softly as a sharp toothed smile comes to his face.

"I want you to fuck me ‘til I can’t walk.” You say through a long, pleased sigh. Tipping your head back against his hands. “I want you to fuck me so hard that it hurts and I’m screaming for more. I wanna forget my name because all I can think about is how fuckin’ good your dick feels inside me." 

Gazing at him through half lidded eyes, biting your lip as you grind against his thigh some more, just to emphasise every one of your points. 

Even though you’re already so hard that it’s painful. But you’re sure that he already knows that.

"My sweet little kitten want all of that, eh?” He asks, a satisfied smirk growing on his face, and you nod your head. “Dirty boy, aren’t ya, Stu?” You nod again.

“Only for you.” You say, a shaky smile on your lips.

He grabs your thighs roughly, holding your body against his as he forces you back against the bed, efficiently keeping you still when he forces your legs up against your chest, spreading you out just for him to see. 

He pushes an eager hand down the front of your panties, running a fingertip over your dripping slit, relishing in the blissed out moans you let out in response and the way your body arches under his.

“Beautiful.” He comments, and you can’t help the giddy grin that comes to your face as he drags your panties down your thighs.

He makes you wait, but god, does he deliver when he needs to.


	72. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: You still doing that au where Murdoc is a vampire, eating out 2D while on his period? Just any monster au with them would be fantastic tbh

The second Murdoc walked into the flat, you knew that he could smell it. 

He barely said a word to you before he was sniffing the air in a hard and utterly obscene way that made you cringe and shrink in your armchair just a little more. Clenching your thighs together and trying to distract yourself from him with potential song writing. 

“Oi, Stu, can you smell that?” Murdoc asked, dumping his coat and shoulder bag on the sofa and erratically pacing across the flat, looking over at you, eyebrows raised. 

You stayed silent, shaking your head and scribbling words into your notebook (specifically “fuck fuck fuck” over and over). 

Trying to ignore how much your cheeks were burning already. 

“Ya really can’t smell that?” He asked again, turning to you with a look of disbelief on his face. “Mate, it’s so strong though.” Frowning to himself. “It’s all coppery and sweet and thick…and so fucking delicious.“ 

Your cheeks burned even more as he got closer to you, still sniffing. 

So focused on finding the source for the smell, he was on his hands and knees, sniffing around, trying to follow a potential source of the scent, his nose in the air much like a dogs would be. It might have been cute if you weren’t so worried about him finding it.

"Sweet fucking satan…it’s so close!” He was starting to get desperate and the expression on his face showed it. Red and hot, hungry for something that you knew all too well. Something that made your blood run cold. “Where the fuck is it?!”

He was at your feet before he started to clue in a little. Sniffing hard several times, before looking up at you and sniffing one last time, a look of slow realisation setting in. Firmly gripping your ankle to pull your thighs apart, getting a sudden and overwhelmingly rich rush of the scent he craved so much, before he buried his face between your thighs and pressed his nose up against the front of your jeans. You let out an outraged yelp in surprise, instantly trying to close your legs on him, though his grip on you was strong enough to prevent that.

“It’s you.” He said, kneeling up properly and getting another good, long whiff of you, letting out a sigh of pure decadence and pleasure as he kept indulging himself in what must have been a wonderful scent for him. Grinning darkly when he looked up. “Isn’t it, love?”

Your face burned bright red with embarrassment and you couldn’t bear looking at him when you were in this much of a state, but you managed a curt nod. Trying to tuck your knees back up to your chest in order to hide yourself from him, though the tight grip he had on your ankle stopped you.

“You don’t get it usually, do you?” He said, his voice slipping into a deeper, slightly sly growl of interest, resting his cheek against your knee innocently, though the look in his eye told you that he was everything but.

“I-I’m on less testosterone…bi-monthly now.” You said, fiddling with your fingers nervously, unable to hide the shaking in your voice, both out of arousal and a slight amount of fear. “Doctor said I might get it again…b-but I didn’t…didn’t expect it so soon, I suppose.”

He raised an eyebrow at your explanation, nostrils flaring a little when another wave of the scent hit him. Almost embodying a rapidly declining self control for something he so often denied himself the pleasure of.

But now he had an excuse, an outlet. 

And a consenting participant, of course, despite how anxious they might have been at the prospect of it.

“Can I?” He smirked slightly, exposing his pointed, monstrous looking canines, and you felt your heart rate pick up. 

You’d forgotten how much you liked that look on him, even if it scared you. Maybe you liked it so much BECAUSE it scared you. You’d always been a little bit weird like that.

“You won’t…ya know.”

“No.” He assured you, already sitting up to slowly unzip your jeans, taking your questions as an almost unspoken consent (though you weren’t stopping him). “I promise you, I won’t.”

All you could do was nod, mostly to yourself, unable to prevent the pleased gasp that slipped from your lips as soon as he buried his face against your sodden boxers. Taking a long breath of the natural albeit incredibly bloody musk of your cunt before he ran his tongue against the fabric, moaning to himself at the taste, making you moan with him at the feeling of it.

You pressed your fingers through his hair, gripping it somewhat roughly and wordlessly encouraging him to keep going as he mouthed your quickly hardening clit through your boxers and tongued your hole to the best of his ability.

Tasting the soaked in, musty blood and enjoying every moment of it.  
It gave you a weird kind of thrill, seeing him on his hands and knees in front of you, so desperate for something that only you could give to him. And how he knew that and loved it as much as you did too.

You gently wrenched his head away from your clothed cunt, smirking with delight at the hungry glare he gave you, before you started to tug your boxers down your thighs and let him get a good look of your bloody cunt and the red that naturally smeared your white skin.

His eyes went wide as he looked at you, as if he was simultaneously staring at the most beautiful piece of art in the world, and the first meal he’d had in weeks. 

You weren’t sure if you minded either comparison.

“Come on then.” You purred to your beloved pet monster at his knees, sitting back in your arm chair and spreading your legs as much as you comfortably could. An arm comfortably tucked behind your head as you smiled down at him. “Get what you want.”

You didn’t have to say another word before his face was between your legs again and his hands at your thighs, keeping you spread open. The flat of his tongue pressed against your hole without even a word of warning, lapping up the blackened, aged blood and moaning with a truly honest pleasure that made your head swim with want.

You let your head fall back against the arm chair as you groaned shamelessly, tangling your free hand in his hair again and allowing your hips to jut with each one of his movements. 

It felt so fucking good. Felt even better knowing that he took immeasurable amounts of pleasure from something so filthy, something so (frankly) submissive for someone who wore dominance like a badge of honour.

It was hotter than you would have cared to admit. Even more so when he pressed the tip of his curled tongue inside you and tasted the hot, fresh blood that you knew he wanted more than anything. How he sounded it too. 

He devoured your trembling cunt with a hunger that you could only associate with a desperate starvation and it was so fucking hot that you wanted to scream loud enough for your entire flat complex to hear (and you were close to it.) You could barely say anything other than stuttered swear words and drawling moans of his name and just how good you made him feel. 

He probably didn’t mind too much. 

You didn’t want to cum. God knew that you didn’t want the beautiful feeling of his tongue on your cunt, up your hole, on your dick to stop, but it had felt so fucking good that it was natural that you were going to cum sooner than you usually did.

It’s an almost humiliating gush of liquid that he didn’t expect, and his eyes widen when he tastes the bitter liquid on his tongue alongside the blood. But they closed with pleasure again when he laps it all up obediently, groaning with delight and tasting every single drop of you.

“You’re fucking incredible.” You whimpered helplessly, stroking through his hair as he cleaned you up.

He pulled back from you and the bottom half of his face is positively coated in your blood. Dark against his already dark skin, dripping down his chin, staining the front of his shirt. When he smiled, his teeth are tinged a sickening red that made your mouth water hopelessly.

You’re sure that you’re too far gone that just that sight alone makes you hungry for even more. But he was just as hungry as you were, and you’re more than happy to give him what he wanted

Even if the threat of a blood soaked frenzy was there.

And a very weird part of you almost hoped for that, just for the sake of rougher sex, more biting, more blood. More danger to it that you couldn’t deny you had craved the second you agreed to this partnership.

Though you’d never tell him that, of course.

Maybe.


	73. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: could we get a college au drabble 

“Look, I respect Romero for knowing his shit about the genre, but just limiting himself to zombie films eventually hurt his career and made his stuff seem one note.”

“You actually mean that or do you just hate zombie movies?”

“I mean it.”

“Don’t see you saying the same thing about Wes Craven or John Carpenter though.”

“Say another thing against John Carpenter and I will kick you out in five seconds flat, Mr Pot.”

An unusually high pitched chuckle slipped past your lips as you took another long drag from the burning joint you were sharing with your Cult and Genre Cinema professor. Watching him with half-lidded eyes as he erratically paced his messy (but somewhat homely) living room, waxing poetic about iconic genre tropes of horror films with you, always pausing every few sentences to smoke and to get your thoughts on the subject.

You’re a bit too drunk, a bit too high to sound as nuanced and articulate as he did when you spoke, but he always nodded at your additions before he started a new spiel.

You liked the conversation though. Not only because he clearly valued your opinions on the topic and held them as just important as his own, but also because his voice was nicer, more excitable and quick than it was in your lectures and it provided a pleasant white noise to your intoxicated brain that was inherently relaxing.

“No no no, you see, the thing about John Carpenter is-” Interrupting himself to sit on the sofa and take the joint that you offered to him. “He always kept it interesting. Genius! Never did the same thing twice, that bloke. That’s good film making, like it or not.”

“Yeah, but he only had a few films that landed.” You said sleepily, turning onto your back and looking up at him, hands tucked comfortably behind your head. “Plus all the Halloween sequels were shit.”

“Alright then, give me a thesis statement from that then.” He replied with a raised eyebrow, exhaling smoke through curled lips. When you rolled your eyes, he let out a bark like laugh and sat forward with excitement. “Come on, lad, you’re a third year. You should be plugged into dissertation mode at all times by now.”

“I’m bombed, Murdoc.” You whined, covering your face with your hands to hide your embarrassment. 

“Yeah, and I wrote half my Masters thesis drunk out of my mind.” He grinned, holding the joint out to you. “Give me something to work with.

"Okaaaaay, okay.” You drawled, rubbing at your eyes idly and taking the joint. “In reference to the works of John Carpenter…” Pausing to watch him nod and to take a drag from the joint. “Can…commercialism damage a filmmaker’s reputation and. Subse-cunt-” Stumbling on your words and breathing out heavy smoke.

“Subsequent.” He said, correcting you

“Subse-cunt works.” Smiling to yourself. “And why Halloween is a shit film and not as good as everyone says it is, ‘cus Dawn of the Dead is loads better and Romero is a better director and person all together. ”

He let out a dirty little chuckle that made the previously drunken flush to your face burn a little hotter, but nodded his head, satisfied with your hypothetical question.

“I’d have to dock a few points for an obvious bias.” He said, watching you as you stubbed the joint out on a pizza box. “But I think you have a legitimate thesis statement there.”

“Anyway I can get those points back, sir?” You said, your voice played up and imitating innocent, though the question was enough for him to raise a half-interested eyebrow at you. 

Murdoc let out a long sigh, though the almost defeated smile on his face made it clear to you that he wasn’t protesting at all. Sitting up, you lazily crawled up the sofa towards him, settling your hands against his chest, gripping his jacket.

“We really can’t keep doing this.” He said softly, but his hands easily slipped down to your sides, over your hips, pulling your bodies closer together. You just smiled dreamily at his almost rough treatment, head floating and heart racing, bringing your face close, tracing your lips over his. “I’m your teacher, Stu.”

“That didn’t stop you the last time, sir.” You all but purred, and the flush that came to his face made you feel powerful in a way you couldn’t properly describe. “Or the time before that…or before that.”

“Cus you’re insatiable.” He replied, an edge of a seductive growl to his voice that made the throbbing in your jeans even harder. “A absolute minx.” His hand slipped down the back of your boxers and he groped you roughly, enough that it makes you moan. “It’s like you’re trying to be coy about it but you can’t help acting like a whore.”

“Only for you though, sir.” You smiled, before pressing a hard kiss to his lips that he matched in a second.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him back to fall against the sofa, and the two of you tangled yourselves in an embrace motivated both by an excessive amount of narcotics and pure, unbridled arousal.

He eagerly ground his hips down against yours and you felt his dick hard under his jeans, as he licked over the parting in your lips and pressed his tongue into your mouth, practically down your throat. Your piercing clacks against his teeth but he didn’t seem to notice or care. He tasted like smoke, did every time you did this together, and it was absolutely intoxicating. You can’t help but moan against his lips as you press your fingers into his hair, gripping him as hard as he did you. 

He was already restless, desperate to get off through whatever means necessary, and you could already tell. 

Always could with him. 

He never tried to hide anything from you, hadn’t since you started his class, and that was something that had drawn you to him. The way that he looked at you whenever you spoke up in one of his classes, the way how he always found time to talk to you after lectures, answer the questions you might have once been embarrassed about but now jumped at the chance of asking them. 

You had him in the palm of your hand, and you planned to using that to your advantage.

You pulled away from the hard kiss, a deliciously viscous strand of saliva joining your lips together, which you licked away with a cheeky smirk towards him. He looked like he was restraining every part of himself to not jump you again, and you considered it a pity for almost a second.

“Can I go down on you, sir?” You murmured softly, pressing your face into his neck and sucking barely there love bites against his dark skin. Possessing him as much as he liked to do to you. 

He squirmed against you, gasps and moans raised in pitch just slightly, and so beautifully erotic that you don’t bother waiting for his answer before you pushed him back against the sofa, moving from underneath him to kneel in front of him and unbuckling his belt. 

“Fucking hell, Stuart.” He whined, watching you as you unzipped his jeans and rubbed your face against the bulge in his boxers, worshiping him. When you ran your tongue up his dick, mouthing him through the taught fabric, his hand immediately pressed into your hair and his hips bucked, wordlessly begging for more.

You wanted to play with him a little longer draw it out, maybe see if you could get him to beg for it, but you want him just as much as he wants you. 

You impatiently pulled down the front of his boxers, allowing his dick to comically spring up against his belly, and just looking at it (beautifully thick, the perfect length to fit inside you, pre-cum already pearling off the thick ring through the tip of it) made your mouth water incessantly. 

How could you even try and get him begging for it when you were close enough to doing it yourself?

“Beautiful.” You said softly, mostly for yourself, but he lets out a dark chuckle from hearing it, giving your hair a playful ruffle.

You took the base of his dick in hand, fingers drifting to cup his balls, and ran your tongue up the length of it before taking the head into your mouth. Unabashedly moaning at the familiar taste on your tongue. 

It’s addictive, and you’re a proud addict, though if you were going to be addicted to anything, dick-sucking was probably the least harmful of your vices.

Especially when you looked up at him and see him throwing his head back against the sofa cushions, biting his lip, moaning and swearing under his breath, hips bucking because you made him feel so good. He looked so fucking good like that, you lament the fact that you hadn’t gotten to see that side of him until you were almost halfway through your semester.

It certainly made your lectures that much more interesting, at the very least.

You took more of him into your mouth and down your throat and moan, knowing how much the vibrations got him going. Still staring up at him, just because you loved just watching his reactions, how easily you could get his professional, academic front to melt away and for him to act off of impulse alone. 

His voice was shaking beautifully as he tried to whimper encouragements for you out, trying to maintain the mentality of your somewhat problematic power dynamic, though you were determined to tear it apart and get him just as eager for it as you were.

Though he wasn’t good at hiding things from you, and you knew that he’d been as, if not more, desperate for it as you had been.


	74. 2RUSS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Kitten 2D and his daddy(russ)?
> 
> drag queen au baby

“Miss Celia Ruse! Reining legend! Bow down, children, because she is serving some Femme Queen Realness tonight!”

Celia Ruse, mother of the House of Ruse and surrogate parental figure for numerous children of the streets, was among the truly Legendary Queens of Soho, London.

A marvel on the floor, based almost entirely on her dedication to homemade, beautifully accomplished drag that effortlessly set her apart from the typical white, skinny queens on the floor, she collected an award or trophy at every ball that she walked. If not for her performances, than for her dedication to running a beautifully organized and supportive house.

She took that love from her community and her children as an accomplishment far more than she did any trophy.

Though she did like her trophies very much too.

When she walked, she had hoards of people screaming for her, stunned and amazed at her charisma, uniqueness, nerve and talent, as well as her undeniable beauty. And she knew that, knew that people adored her.

It was what she deserved after all. She expected nothing less.

Tonight she’s awarded First Prize by the judges, and she took it graciously. Grand Prize was awarded to a sweet young thing with soft skin and a delicate frame. She kissed Celia on the cheek with tears in her eyes. Perhaps it was her first trophy. Good for her.

Before there was even a second for anyone else in the crowd of her house to congratulate her on her victory, a skinny little queen pushed through them, quickly draping herself around Celia, babbling away to her, hands excitedly flapping, telling the older queen how well she’d done on the floor. Celia doesn’t need to be told how incredible she might be, but she smiles proudly anyway.

Stusie Q, a ‘typical white, skinny queen’ and Celia’s newest protégé, was dressed up, as she had been told to be by the other house members, in a tight gothic number that was more straps and leather than it was fabric. The garment almost looking like she had attacked a dress with a pair of scissors minutes before heading out to the ball. Stusie has the body to pull it off though, not curvy but skinny, like a model.

Unlike the other house members, she was yet to walk the ballroom floor, hadn’t decided what sort of category she would apply for yet, but Celia was probably enough of a ball queen for the both of them.

It was okay if Stusie was just a pretty face.

Okay for Celia at the very least.

“Oh, baby girl, you wore that mess of a garment outside?” Celia asked, the moment Stusie managed to untangle herself from her. Motioning for the younger queen to follow her as they walked through the crowd and to the work room. Leaving the other house members to keep watching the rest of the ball. “My lord, who taught you to sew like that, honey?”

“My daddy did.” Stusie replied, her bordering and deeply tragic Cockney voice cracking with a sweet smile, hands obediently out to hold Celia’s coat when she shrugged out of it, without having to even be asked first.

“Uh huh, and what’s your daddy do?” She continued, unfastening her heavy jeweled earrings and glancing at her protégé with a raised and artfully painted eyebrow.

“My daddy’s a drag queen!” Stusie grinned through cracked teeth, throwing the coat onto Celia’s dressing table and throwing her arms lovingly around her.

“Is that right?” Celia said with a teasing smile, stroking over Stusie’s hands around her waist. “He any good then, kitty girl? Or you just talkin’ big?”

“She’s the best there is. No-one better.”


	75. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #freemurdoc

You always felt uneasy in prisons.

Even just waiting around for your turn in the high security visitation booth made you unbearably anxious, as if you had something to hide even though you knew that you didn’t. They didn’t really trust your judgement on those sorts of things though. You couldn’t imagine why.

After what felt like hours of silence in the empty waiting room, you were called up for your turn in the booth, quickly patted down “just to be safe, sir”.

You hated that too. Weird, up-their-arse, too powerful people with their firm hands all over you, far too close to your bits to be comfortable with, trying to find something, call you out on something. You did your best to hide a sneer when the guy finished up and let you into the booth without another word.

Murdoc had always taught you not to trust police of any degree, from SWAT teams to spotty teens with too much time on their hands, and you took his lessons to heart every time you were in one of these places.

Putting your satchel down, you sat in your seat, adjusting yourself in the hardly molded plastic with your eyes on the door on the other side of the glass. Wondering why they were allowed to keep you waiting for any more time than you should be.

It was a few more minutes of waiting before the door opens and a guard leads him.

His hands were cuffed together, albeit loosely, and the guard had an authoritative hand on his shoulder that you could tell he hated. He wore an almost stereotypical orange jumpsuit that only he could manage to pull off, but the black work boots looked enough like his own boots that he still looked like himself.

He looked absolutely exhausted, a nasty purpling bruise around his right eye, both eyes bloodshot with sleep deprivation and worry (in his case) but when he saw you, he had to restrain showing just how happy he is to see you. An ecstatic grin that quickly faded into a warm, but still delighted smile that you couldn’t help but smile back at.

He sat down on his side of the glass, making himself comfortable and you both picked up your phones together.

“Alright, bluebird.” He said, his voice sounding the same as ever, and your face already hurts from smiling so much. “How’s life on the outside, eh?”

“It’s alright.” You replied, the giddy happiness in your voice not subtle at all, but it just made him smile more. “We…we finished recording the new album. Set to release in a few weeks.”

“Yeah?” He asked, and you nodded. “Great. Knew you lot would manage to pull it out the bag without me. Didn’t doubt otherwise.” His praise made you smile even more, and you shyly cast your eyes down.

“Less fun without you though. Ace is more boring than you’d think.” The admission made him laugh, and hearing it again made your heart swell. “How about you though? You…look good.”

“Get off it, I look like a mess.” Another little laugh in spite of himself. “It’s alright though. Long as I keep to myself and my correctional officer. People in here are fucking ruthless, I’ll be honest with ya.”

“You’ve got a…” Gesturing at your own right eye, and he raised an eyebrow at you, a gesture of semi-irritation that said “no shit, Sherlock” wordlessly. “Bruise. Black eye. Where’d ya get that?”

“Oh, my little shiner?” He said, running a thumb over the purple skim and grimacing. “Yeah, I got that for speaking ‘out of turn’-” Gesturing with air quotes. “To the big balls tough nut of this place.” Scoffing and rolling his eyes. “All I did was call him a wanker. People round here are so quick to be offended, swear t'Satan.” You laughed at his outraged expression which made his face soften a little.

“God, I miss you so much.” You said softly.

“I miss you too, bluebird.” He replied, his voice just as soft. Leaning towards the glass little more with a loved up smile that made you absolutely melt. “You’re alright though, aren’t you? Pulling through just fine, aren’t ya?”

“I’m…managing okay, yeah.”

“Atta boy. Always making me proud, aren’t ya?” He crooned softly, and a light flush came to your face that made him grin.

“I do miss you a lot though. We all do.”

“Nah, don’t pull my leg, lad.” He interrupted with a harsh chuckle, his grin morphing to a slight frown. “The other’s are happy to see the back of me. You should be as well.” Sitting back in his seat and frowning to himself even more. “You should know by now I’m no good.”

“Please don’t do this.” You pleaded, leaning closer to the glass. “You really think I care what’s good for me? I don’t care about that, Murdoc, not anymore.” Letting your voice dip quieter. “I’m trying to get you out. Some of the fans are helpin’ out but-”

“Bullshit. We both know that it was me who fucked up, Stuart.” He said, a snap to his voice that made you quickly shut up. “Whatever it was I did, I fucked up and I should be in here, alright. Just let me stew, alright?”

“You were set up!” You near shouted, your free hand against the glass. “And no-one’s helping you, out here or in there. Please, just let me help you.”

An amused, if hopeless smile came to his face as he leaned forward in his seat again, pressing his own hand against the glass, against your’s. Just so that you could pretend for a moment. Pretend that you were touching him again, that you were with him again. Even if you felt so far away that it made you insane.

“I really fucked you up, didn’t I, Stu?” He said, a slight quiver and thickness to his voice that forced your heart to clench hard in your chest because you knew it so well. Knew he was doing everything he could not to cry, not to fall apart in front of you.

“I was already fucked up” You replied with an equally tragic tone. “You just loved me because of it.”

“I did, yeah.” He said, laughing and shaking his head. “Still do. So much.”

“I love you too.”


	76. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: hey uhhh i recently live for your works now,, sorry if something similar has been requested but can i get 2D giving murdoc road head? that would make my month

“If you’re going to be a pain in the arse for the entire drive, maybe try and make yourself useful. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut.”

“If you say so.”

Murdoc probably hadn’t expected you to be so eager to lean over the console of the van and start unbuckling his belt. It being so unexpected that he even swerved a little (just a little, not dangerously) from the shock of it, glaring at you accusingly but saying nothing when you just smirked up at him from his lap.

Wordlessly telling him to relax, because you were going to shut your mouth with something that would benefit the both of you.

You pressed your nose against the front of his boxers, breathing in a slightly soaked in and raw smelling musk that was to be expected when reusing clothes on tour. So uniquely him and intoxicating enough that it made you throb somewhat beneath your own jeans and you couldn’t help but moan and run a tongue over his length, even with the fabric in the way.

Out of your peripheral vision, you could see his hands clench on the steering wheel as he tried to maintain an expression of stoicism. He’s very bad at that kind of thing.

You tucked his boxers down slightly, gripping his semi-hard dick and with a slight jerk of your wrist, tugging his foreskin tight.

Mouth already watering just looking at the slick head, his slit already oozing with pre-cum, his piercing already glinting in the low light of the van, the shifting street lights that you drove by, with the same fluid. You doubt you would ever get tired of just looking at such a beautiful dick. Though perhaps it’s just beautiful because it’s attached to him.

You hummed softly with thought as you took his length into your mouth, tempted to prematurely deepthroat him and tempt him into pulling into a layby and fuck your face good and proper.

But he doesn’t seem that tempted for the time being. Just letting out a shuddering breath as his hips subtly jutted in his seat, keeping his eyes on the stretching motorway and the midnight sky. Surprisingly responsible for someone like him.

So instead, you built up a slow, almost teasing rhythm of bobbing your head in his lap, lips stretched taut around his length and down to the base of his dick. Tongue running along the slit, tasting the pre-cum and allowing yourself a moment of reckless breathlessness and an opportunity to just relish yourself completely in him for a moment. Envelop him, quall your obsessions with him for even a moment. While you were alone together, and had the chance to.

The soft guitars of the radio accompanied your whimpers of pleasure perfectly.

A hand eventually drifted away from the steering wheel , and curled itself tightly into your hair, keeping your head pinned still as you drooled sloppily around him. Breathing steadily, albeit heavily, a low and deeply pleased growl slipping from his lips that gets your dick so hard that it was impossible to keep ignoring.

You inelegantly shoved a hand down the front of your jeans and grip your own throbbing dick, moaning softly as he pressed your head down slightly more, bucking his hips to try and force himself deeper into the delicious tightness of your throat and satisfy himself even more.

“We should have done this hours ago.”

No wonder you’re drooling so much.


	77. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: monster murdoc..aaaand innocent 2D? For the S P O O K day
> 
> almost done lol

A hand harshly wraps tight around your throat and your back hits the wall, forcing a rough grunt from your lips.

A framed photo shatters near your scrambling feet.

Murdoc presses his mouth hard against yours before you had the chance to even realise what he’s doing, his forked tongue pressing past your lips and swiping against yours. You could feel his teeth grow sharper with every second as they graze against your lips, daring to bite down, to bruise, to bleed. The idea of your blood staining his lips, his skin, is unbelievably arousing and you can’t control yourself at all.

You should be terrified. But you’re not even close to it at all.

You can’t help the moan that slips out as you grab for his wrists, trying to urge his tight hold on your throat away, though in reality, it’s just making you harder underneath your jeans. Maybe to entice him to put his hands somewhere else, your hips, your thighs.

You just don’t want to lose it before he’s even done anything yet.

As if he’s reading your mind (and you suspect for a moment that maybe he is), he lets go of your neck with one hand that slips down the side of your body, roughly groping your ass and forcing your leg to wrap around his middle.

It’s easy to slip your other leg around him, and it forces his hand away from your throat and down to your hip to properly support you, giving you ample opportunity to properly breath and envelop yourself completely in him. He holds you steady, supports your body against the wall with a strength that makes your weight feel effortless.

The idea alone makes you even harder and makes you moan even louder. You can’t stop kissing him and god knows you never wanted to.

He bites your bottom lip roughly, giving it a slight tug with a sharp toothed grin that makes your face flush bright red. Almost black horns curl out of his hair as they extend in length, much like the horns of a ram, and his dark skin blanches slightly, noticeable even in the low light of the flat, replaced with a greenish, corpse like hue.

“What’s the matter, babe?” He almost growls with the dirtiest of chuckles that makes you feel utterly filthy and your loins stir even more, as he digs his sharpening and bloody nails into the meat of your hips, making you let out a squeak of pain. “Looks like you seen a ghost.”

“Is that what you are?” You whisper against his smirking lips, your body involuntarily trembling as you watch, sickened and spellbound by the monstrosity before your eyes.

“Stuart, love, I’m offended.” He says, a mock hurt tone to his voice, rolling his eyes as his irises filled with darkness. “Do I look like a ghost to you, darlin’?” A hand going up to cup your chin gently, forcing your eyes to meet. The darkness taking over his eyes completly, the forced eye contact is the thing that makes your blood run cold. “Do I feel like a ghost?”

His forked tongue darts out, like a snakes, and licks over your quivering lips, a sickening string of saliva joining your mouths together before he kisses you hard again, takes your breath away and empties your head.

Not a ghost, no, but certainly not a man.

A monster.


	78. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: coughs... hey...... if u feel like it........... can we like, get 2d being overwhelmed and using the safeword and then murdoc jus.. comforts him...... ty have a nice day.......
> 
> doot doot safe words are important but please make sure to communicate with your partner that “stop” and “no” are also fine words during sex. also they should be able to read your body language and know if ur not into it or too overwhelmed without u tellin em but *shrug*

He rocks his hips against yours roughly, too roughly for what’s supposed to be a casual fuck, one hand pressed through your hair, fingers tangled up so tightly that it stings your scalp. His other hand rests on your hip, pulling your body back against his as he fucks into you, hard, fast, almost too fast to deal with. Making sure you can’t wiggle away or give yourself the slightest bit of space if you needed it.

When you do let yourself writhe, he forces your body straight against his and bites along the shell of your ear, running his tongue over the cartilage, whispering utterly filthy dirty talk while you let out trembling whimpers and moans. Your body arching against his when he digs his nails into your skin and drags red lines down your thighs that’ll sting in the morning. Sting too much to be really pleasurable.

The mattress squeaks under your entangled bodies, squeaks the way that you do when he pulls out of you, for just a moment, and pushes you down hard. Your bound hands do nothing to stop the surprise force on your stomach.

He pushes himself back inside of you before you even have the chance to realise it, and the whine is so close to a cry that it almost makes him stop. Almost. But he overestimates your pain tolerance, your tolerance for his brutish behaviour in general this time, and thinks nothing of it.

You can’t really blame him. On any other night, this would be foreplay leading up to a grand event, but for some reason, it’s far too much tonight.

“Murdoc, please-” You manage to rasp out between moans and gasps, but he grips your hair hard again, pressing your face against the sheets as he fucks you into the mattress.

“Y'like that, don’t you?” He growls into your ear, biting the lobe with too sharp teeth, making the moans turn into crys. “Such a slut.”

“I can’t-”

“Now now, you’re doing so well.” He continues, his voice a croon as he playfully slaps your ass, chuckling at your surprised yelp. “Almost acting like a little virgin with me, Stu. As if. Fucked that out of you years ago, didn’t I?”

“B-Blue.”

The second the word slips from your lips, almost the moment the first letter is registered, he stops immediately.

Easing himself out of you, in the least painful way that he could, letting go of your hair, and busying himself with unlocking the handcuffs and stroking along the lines that they’ve left behind. Saying nothing, just allowing you a few moments of much needed silence to sink comfortably into the mattress and take a couple of deep breaths as a means of grounding yourself back into the present.

“Got a bit carried away. Sorry.” He asks, stowing the cuffs away in your bedside. He doesn’t need to apologise, but you’re glad that he does, the rare times that he doesn’t pick up on your body language, the rare times he makes these sort of mistakes. “Need a minute?”

“Please.” You say, your voice soft if slightly hoarse, with a smile. “Get us a cuppa as well, would you?”

“Cheeky git.” He replies with an eye roll, before kissing you, softly and sweetly, on the forehead and standing to his feet. Pushing a hand through his sweaty fringe and getting his hair out of his eyes. “Want anything else?”

“Hm.” You think, turning onto your back with a grin. “You back here in two minutes so we can cuddle? And maybe see if there’s anything good on the telly.”

“Of course.”

He forces his jeans over his still present erection without another word, and leaves you to get comfortable in the bed.

You don’t feel guilty any more. That’s the best thing about this.


	79. 2DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Idk if you're still taking requests?? But uh... Could you write some more 2doc horror porn? You high-key made me find a new kink and I'm in love
> 
> gore warning

“You know, when I was eighteen, I took my girlfriend to my granddad’s funeral.”

“Wow. A date to a synagogue filled with people she doesn’t know but has to be polite to. That’s really what every girl wants, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, it was the nineties and we were edgy little goth kids. She loved it. Said it was well cool. She dressed in black lace and fishnets, and these massive platform boots that made her as tall as me. My cousin said she could see her nipples through her dress. I think she did it on purpose.”

“Where’s this going, babe?”

“Well, we couldn’t even make it back to my place before I pounced on her. We went behind one of the mausoleum things and just got to it right there. And there’s that myth, isn’t there? How funerals get some people mega turned on because they’re so overwhelmed with the idea of being alive and the only way to vent that out is to fuck the person that you’re closest to. Something like that, yeah?”

“Right?”

“Do you think it’s the same when you kill someone?”

+

Stuart smiled softly over at his partner, idly tapping the tip of his kitchen knife against his chin as he spoke, streaking blood down his pale skin.

A minx-like mischief, that Murdoc recognised all too well, shining in his eyes when he was done with his spiel, as he paced across the cement floor to the bound and still writhing body. Squatting down and cocking his head to the side as he watched the pooling blood grow larger with every moment.

Somehow the body was still conscious. Becoming less and less lucid with each second, of course, but still alive. It could probably still make out the smiling blue haired sadist that took the utmost pleasure in watching them die. Stuart would later call the idea “poetic” in a particularly gory journal entry. Murdoc would call it “painful.”

But Murdoc couldn’t help but smirk as he watched his partner curiously if sadistically toy with their prey. Wielding his own, much more heavily used weapon of choice (a well loved bowie knife that needed its handle replacing), leaning against a counter full of similar bloody weapons and tools. His posture almost carefree and totally uncaring, enjoying Stuart’s delight in watching the life gradually drain from their prey’s eyes.

“Perhaps that’s just you.” Murdoc said with a crooked grin as he paced over to his partner. “I don’t even think most people get turned on at funerals either.” Heeled boots making his steps across the basement audible, he playfully ruffled Stuart’s hair when he reached him, smiling to himself when the younger man keened closer to the touch, a pleased sigh slipping from his lips. “But you always were a bit of a sicko, weren’t you?”

“Still am.” Stuart replied, his smile shifting into a grin as he turned to face Murdoc, on his knees and looking up at the older man as if he was looking at the single thing he cared about in the world.

And he probably was. Stuart couldn’t exactly find time or energy to care about very much these days, so it made sense that his husband would be the only thing worth investing his time in. And it certainly helped that Murdoc felt very much the same way.

They were utterly devoted to nothing but each other.

“If I’m such a sicko then…you wanna feel it?” Stuart continued, his voice hushing into almost a shaking whisper as he stood up to his feet and felt for Murdoc’s other hand (the one not still playing with his hair.) Holding it gently by the wrist and moving it to the front of his jeans, where his erection was already straining against the zip, though this was hardly a surprise. “That’s all for you. And maybe someone else too.” Giggling softly to himself as he moved more against Murdoc’s hand, grinding his hips down to where the older man still gripped the bowie knife.

Though the weapon so close to him did nothing at all to deter his arousal. Probably enhanced it, if Murdoc knew Stuart the way he did.

“Don’t you think we should finish up with this one first?” Murdoc asked, maintaining a level of composure despite being just as aroused as Stuart was, with a curt nod over to the still trembling body.

“No, no. I think they should get to enjoy one last thing before they die, don’t you?” Stuart suggested, bringing his arms around Murdoc’s neck and nuzzling his face against his shoulder. Kissing up to his jaw while still jutting his hips for more attention from his husband.

“Why should they get to enjoy you?” Murdoc near growled, dropping his knife and grabbing Stuart’s hips roughly, turning their bodies and forcing him against the side of the counter. “Why should I have to share you with anyone else, hm?” Bringing his face close to Stuart’s, so close that he could almost feel the heat from his cheeks. “You promised to be mine.”

“Careful.” Stuart whispered, an almost seductive and pleased pout to his parted lips as he brought his still brandished knife underneath Murdoc’s chin. The point elegantly posed against his jugular and digging into his skin, just slightly. Proving that he was completely serious. “You promised that I’d never have to belong to anyone again. So keep that promise to me.”

Murdoc’s adam’s apple bobbed harshly as he swallowed hard. Nervously running his tongue over his lips, he nodded his head and allowed his grip on Stuart’s hips to relax somewhat as Stuart lowered his knife with a sweet smile. Murdoc should have really known better than challenging what his husband wanted by now, that was his fault, not Stuart’s. He just needed to be reminded occasionally.

“That’s it.” He crooned, slipping his arm back around the older man’s neck and pressing soft kisses against his neck and down to his slightly exposed collar bone. “That’s a good boy.”

Murdoc just let out an appreciative growl as he pressed their hips together, rocking their clothed erections together and relishing in the soft, pleased moans Stuart let out when Murdoc did as he was told, when he got what he wanted.

“Now let’s give our guest a show, hm?”


	80. MURDOC SOLO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Could we get some murdoc jerkin it (or trying to) in prison?
> 
> this is all the shit on the blog lol

When you’re alone, when your nose is bloody and your face is a daily masterpiece of bruises and gashes inflicted from your fellow inmates, you think of him

His cracked tooth smile, genuine and sweet and hard to fake.

His skinny, almost lithe body that seemed to be frozen in time, save for the dashed white scars that would grow in numbers every time you were apart. The way he would shrink away when you touched them.

His hair, lightened with age, delicately curling under his jaw when it got long enough, how pretty he would look when he allowed it to grow out long enough to his his shoulders.

His spidery, piano players fingers clasped with yours, badly painted fingernails tapping against your hands when he was particularly anxious or overwhelmed.

His pale skin against the darkness of yours.

The pitch black of his eyes that you could somehow always look right into when no-one else could.

His pretty lips, smiling, parted and laughing at a joke that only the two of you understood, gasping and bitten bruised until they matched the soft red of his cheeks during the throes of passion.

His voice, singing your lyrics like an angel, cracking in the middle of a conversation, moaning and whining and crying out in ecstasy when you touched him just right.

His too-long legs, wrapped around your waist and his skinny arms around your neck, his body entangled with yours, so close that sometimes you didn’t know where you began and he ended.

His whispered “I love you”, mumbled against your neck and cried out when you pushed it out of him enough, when his skin was slick and his body was trembling.

His kisses that the he so graciously shared with you during those dark, sweet moments, those moments that came back to you in similarly dark, less sweet moments spent alone without him to comfort you.

His incessant touches that got you lightheaded, his perfect hold on you that you were never able to really replicate, no matter how often you tried.

His perfect lips stretched around your dick, taking it down like he had been born to do it, like it was his job.

His cracked tooth smile looked when he swallowed everything down, without any sort of complaint, happy to just give you something that you wanted. Happy to make you happy, despite everything that you put him through.

His forgiveness, his sweetness, his insistence to defend you when you never deserved it.

You miss him.

You try and convince yourself it’s because you want to fuck him, or because you just wanted something warm to hang onto, something to force you on the ground, something that would make you feel safe and protected.

But it’s so much more than that.

You love him.


	81. 2D SOLO (SORTA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't post this on my blog so have fun i'm done now

"God, needy little slut, isn't he?"

 

You moan, deep and heavy and full of unabashed delight against the thick cock half way down your throat, living up to the appropriately thrown slur as you bounce a second cock underneath you like you were born to do it. Hands of a delicious hardbody curled around your thighs, keeping your legs spread open as they thrust deep inside you, mostly silent save for the occasional grunts of pleasure when you clench tight enough against them. 

 

Strong hands digging into the meat of your thighs. Making sure everyone else could get a good look of your desperate and eager body, your own dick, currently ignored and painting pleasure against the hairs on your stomach. 

 

They're maybe the third person (not including the dildos, anal beads, butt plugs and the hot goth with the monster of a strap on who got you first) you've had in your ass tonight, though they might have been the fourth for all you knew. It was easy to lose count of just how many people has already fucked you when your brain was in the process of leaking out of your ears from the sheer amount of cock being rammed into your skull.

 

In retrospect, it was probably the complimentary cocaine and vodka the host had served as casually as appetisers at a dinner party that made everything blur into one.

 

Not that you had a problem with some casual narcotic use though.

 

Things like that certainly did the trick at loosening your nerves. Encouraged you to pursue what you really wanted when you agreed to orgies in the apartments of strangers and potential collaborators.

 

"Takin' it like a fuckin' trooper though. Must be the fourth guy who's fucked him at this rate."

 

Ah. So it was the fourth.

 

The cock in your mouth came down your throat without even a word (or vague noise) of warning. You might have been annoyed but the familiar taste of cum on your tongue was so arousing, it sent a shiver of pleasure straight down to your dick, and when you (involuntarily) clenched on the cock buried in your ass, they couldn't help but spill over inside of you too. 

 

Filling up both your holes. It's sinful just how much that idea turns you on.

 

When they withdraw from you, strong hands slipping up to your hips to support your shaking body, a warm cocktail of cum practically dripped down the inside of your thigh, and you didn't even try and stop the delirious giggle that slips from your lips when you felt it.

 

"Cute for a total cum dumpster, right? Dunno where we found him."

"I feel like I recognise him from somewhere though."

 

You barely had a moment to catch your breath back before another person was approaching you, a tentative hand on your jaw as they unzipped the front of their jeans. You obediently moved in closer with an eager smile, rubbing your cheek against the hard on underneath the layers of fabric, mouth already watering before they'd even whipped anything out.

 

A shiny silver barbell through the foreskin made a soft spot in your heart pang uncomfortably, but you're quick to shake it off, as well as any unwanted memories, as you moved in closer. Dragging your tongue over the length as soon as you had the space, taking the half hard cock into your mouth and sucking it, feeling your whole body melt as it hardened against your tongue.

 

Delicate, feminine fingers finally wrapped around your aching dick, a thumb casually toying with your dripping slit as another ripped, muscled hardbody kept you pinned still. Effortlessly working you over, pushing you closer to your edge, taking enjoyment in the way your body trembled, the shaking moans at the top of your throat as it got fucked, the desperation in your eyes as they squeezed tight to stop overwhelmed tears pouring down your face.

 

“Take his picture. I wanna keep that look for a photo album.”

 

The very idea, the very prospect of you maybe getting caught out at one of these places made your dick throb even harder. No doubt something as scandalous as this would get into the paper, or at least the headline of some shitty online tabloids obsessed with exposing celebrities and their dirty little secrets.

 

The idea was undeniably arousing. A rush of deeply desired humiliation makes your head spin.

 

More hands stroked down your body, fingers wormed into your hole to test out just how stretched and thoroughly used you were. You were sure that you could have probably taken the next one dry, if you were in a particularly masochistic mood.

 

Which you were. Almost one hundred percent of the time these days.

 

And things like this were the perfect outlet for every one of your self destructive urges.


End file.
